Like a Lion One-Shots
by Pregnant-Whale3000
Summary: A series of one-shots starring Jaune Arc as he is thrust into a world full of shirtless fist fights, melodrama, crime families, yakuza, and bloody evolution. WARNING: OOC
1. The Silver Fox

DISCLAIMER: RWBY is property of Roosterteeth Productions, LLC. I am in no way associated with its operations nor the production of RWBY. I so solemnly swear that I have no holdings nor involvement with Roosterteeth Productions, LLC or RWBY.

* * *

In an apartment complex, a scarred Faunus examined her wall where names, places, dossiers, and faces were connected by pins and strings. Mob families, media moguls, business heads.

Huntsmen.

The links between each faction and each unit were so twisted up in each other, she wouldn't be surprised if loyalties began blurring and heads began turning.

Bodyguards. Shade Academy. The Kinkaze-kai. The Vacuoan Mafia. Her family. And the Archer crime family.

She approached the photo of a young man: silver-hair, paled orange eyes, his fox-like stare hinted his crueler streak. 4 dead bodies. Assets and stocks were acquired, redistributed and what could not was liquidated by relevant parties. Money was laundered. Palms were greased. Bank accounts got filled and some well-dressed thug, a real scum of the earth type, got a new toy.

She judged her own 'assets': a wall full of weapons, ammunition, dust, and other tools she would need in the coming days. So many ways to get the job done. So many things that could go wrong. Blueprints of buildings, employee schedules, dates filled with information about where and when key figures would go. Numbered, weighed, and sorted lockers full of munitions and ordnance lined the room where they could. MREs tucked away in a crate. Francine Chateau was a woman on a mission. Extra-judicial killings might not exactly be legal.

But they were moral. More fulfilling than a sentencing.

She mulled over the man's history: a young son of Nikolas Archer the IV and Argenta DaSilva. One of many Archer children. Another child who grew up in the Archer crime Family, raised to appreciate lawless luster, growing into yet another Captain who indulged in all manner of pleasures. This son in particular had a taste for Faunus with Equestrian features: hooves, long tails, and flickering ears. Skilled in archery. Known for participating in the defense of various Frontier villages and towns for the thrill of it, fighting against rival Families, debt collecting, and if need be

Taking people out.

The L'Argent Archier. The Silver Archer. The Silver Bow of Chiron (a dumb, overly glorified name). The Silver Fox. Foxeyes.

All names for the same man.

He was not infamous strictly for assassination. A fact that made her frown. In fact all the wetwork he had done (that was confirmed and filed, as far as police reports went) were only of 2 specific people: a Vacuoan gang-banger who had been trafficking in Archer Family territory and a hitman purportedly hired by the Kinkaze-Kai. Vacuo was already a lawless hive, and no authority shed a tear over the loss of the criminal elements. The local law having been bribed probably helped Foxeyes escape a jail sentence. The remaining 2 were trickier.

Word of mouth and hearsay hinted at a setup. "The Silver Fox had leaked information and got rival gangs to take out a lieutenant of the Kinkaze-Kai yakzua!". Others would shoot that down, "No! It was a deal between the Vacuoan Mob and the Archer Family to take out an enemy." One outlandish story proclaimed that "the L'Argent Archier had predicted the future! So he set up a trap, months before he killed the lieutenant." Implying a semblance. Not that it was unexpected. No one really goes long in the business without picking up a few tricks. Though it did tend to bring the heat on any bad guy who had their Aura unlocked, even if done through legal means.

She sighed.

The Silver Fox had been acquitted of one murder however: alibi from both Family related and unrelated witnesses put him somewhere else when the murder happened. A sky-capitan who had been trafficking humans and Faunus alike through the underworld. Still had him connected with the Archer Family. Otherwise, the Silver Fox was more or less a gopher, a courier delivering messages and served protection detail when asked or ordered to. A man who had worked for Those Murderers. A man who knew the names and faces of gangsters and gunmen who were there when _IT_ happened. Who were involved with that bloody mess.

A man who had recently been spotted in her home turf.

Vale was a sprawling metropolis reached everywhere, into the sky, beneath the earth, or upon its surface. The city spread. There was never enough cops to walk the beat, especially in the undercity. Thankfully, she could

Foxeyes would be dead soon enough, but he would prove useful to her first.

He would tell her what she wanted to know. A crowbar into a closed door. He would be the one to give her just revenge.

Francine Chateau was a woman of focus. A woman with a mission.

She would not be stopped.

* * *

" _Moi cousin_! Look at you, like a real _beaux voyous_." A silver-haired man, with hazel eyes caught sight of a familiar face.

"Hey, Sterling." Jaune's smile strained. _Beaux voyous, huh?_ He returned the greeting. Damn. Sterling still gave hard hugs. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"2 years, Jaune and you're still so damn tall! Ah, ze ladies must love you. Tall guys and big shoes, yes?" Sterling's smile was matched by Jaune's sheepish expression. Oh, _sacre bleu_! Even though Jaune looked fresh in his gray vest, clean dress shirt, finished with a nice grey blazer. Something's never changed. Good thing He was here then!

" _Allonsi, cousin_!" Pulling him towards a random direction, he did not like the grin that plastered his cousin's face. "W-Where are we going 'Ling?" Jaune's nervousness was palpable.

"To _le femmes_! C'mon Jaune, ze night is young and we have all of next morning to celebrate! To ze Archer-Arc reunion!" With a final cheer, they arrived at the nightclub, above its entrance shone a cherry neon sign displaying "INFERNO". The line was long, a sight that gave a modicum of hope to Jaune; the bouncers were about to turn them away when Sterling cheekily showed them their VIP passes. The modicum of hope was promptly smashed, as they entered the club. It was like entering another world.

The club's dance floor was lit up with colorful clubbers and light-up tiles, the bass thrummed through the floor and into the air, the booths and tables had c;I,[s of club-goers, and the night was still young. Jaune recalled the times he and Sterling went to a club. A lot of it was hazy, but he distinctively remembered either 'setting fire' to the dance floor, getting into drinking contests with patrons, or inevitably have to bail out a certain Sterling Archer out of fist fight. Or all 3.

He'd be lying if he hadn't gotten some satisfaction from the fights they got in.

Jaune sat at the table that Sterling had pointed him toward, while the man in question was busy talking with the bartender. He ordered an old fashioned, and tried negotiating for some cocktail; Jaune vaguely made out the words 'vodka' and 'grasshopper'. He hummed to the music as he waited, eying the clubgoers, the music was an electronic house track he'd vaguely recall he had heard before. Meh. Hadn't stopped him from (in the words of his grandfather) cutting a rug before. Though it did make getting numbers easier.

Sterling finally sat down. Their drinks arrived after a while and the two made a commemorative toast before sipping their respective drinks. They settled down, a moment of silence passed between them. The twice-removed cousins' toast was bookended by the two bursting out with laughter. Their howls were cut out by the music though nearby tables shot them a glance. In particular, a table where 5 guys in suits sat. A shiny pin shone from their lapels.

"So, Jaune…"

"Hmmm?" His foot tapped to the music absently.

"Huntsman…" Of course… Ooooooof. Course.

"Did mom or dad tell you to do this?" The bark of laughter did not make his stomach settle any easier.

"Psh. Your _Mamam_ and _Papa_ have nuh-sing to do with zis. Zey still send you money, no?" It was true. They _had_ kept sending him his monthly allowance. A show of support for his decision or pity?

"Mmmm." Or maybe it was some long-term scheme.

"But anyway, I do not _care_ to talk aboot your parents. Your life, mon cousin! You have not, uploaded, anyzing to your Lifebook!" Jaune grumbled. "So who knows what you are doing. It is an enigma, _particular_ , with your success." If this was just 'catching up with family', why did it feel like having teeth pulled?

"Well, I got in."

"Obviously."

"You don't think I'm lying?" The man's eyes wrinkled in amusement.

"Oh, I have little doubt to sink zat your continued stay here, is _intentional_." The man sipped his Grasshopper. It seemed to glow in the club light.

"Glad to know someone has faith in me." Sterling took a show-bow.

"I aim to please, _monsieur_."

"Yeah. I'm doing good. I mean I- I'm not the greatest." The quirked eyebrow set off a flare of anxiety in his stomach. "I heard a sword went, _missing_." Jaune winced. Of course he'd know what happened to Crocea Morrs.

"I also know Huntsman, no matter how small they are. Must have their aura, déchaîné, moi cousin. Hmm, I recall zat your aura was…" He seemed to sniff in distaste. "Still locked away." His cousin cringed. "I also recall zat you never attended any _academie de combat_." Both very true facts that made him extremely uncomfortable. Why couldn't they just talk shop?

"I got lucky…?" Sterling snorted and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"'Lucky', he says!" Sterling mocked "You slung yourself into danger, Jaune. You had a plan but you did not realize the _logistique_ of it all." He leaned forward, dropping his accent. "It was extremely dangerous, Jaune."

Yeah. Jaune sighed. As if the thought hadn't crossed his mind during initiation, and after that. Foolhardy, his name was Jaune Arc.

"It's good that you know. Now that, that is out of the way." Sterling topped both of their glasses. "The way I hear it, Huntsmen can drink triple what ordinary men can drink. Care to prove it?" The gauntlet was thrown. Jaune clinked his glass against his cousin's.

" _En garde_."

It wasn't long before the duo were hitting the dance floor.

As the Arc-Archer Reunion continued, the boys enjoyed the time there: shots, dancing, and fine company in the form of twins dressed in red and white.

"HAHAHA!" Jaune guffawed, as the twins tittered. Well, more like Militia tittered whilst Melanie snorted though that didn't stop her from smiling with them. Sterling Archer had certainly been up to no good: in Vacuo he had encountered some dumb fool-hardy tourists, a group of lads wanting to prove their 'badass-itude" (read: getting tribal tattoos and into needless fights).

"No way! No one would literally kick a wasps nest just to prove they were badass!" Jaune chuckled. The girl in red that sat next to him nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, like, that's super dumb." The girl in red took a sip of something fruity. Jaune idly noticed that it smelt like strawberries and tequila.

"Hey, what can I say." Sterling threw his arms wide, shrugging, the grin on his face grew roguish. "I'm a _charmer_."

"Oh?" Melanie's half-lidded gaze, smoldered against the cool grey eyes of Stering's. They leaned a little closer to each other.

"Like, what do you think, Militia?" She turned to her sister who in turn took in the sights. Silver or gold?

Militia leaned into Jaune's side fluttering her lashes at him. She had certainly struck gold.

Jaune found himself staring back into her green eyes. This was nice. Nostalgic even.

"Silver's, like, not my colour, Melanie. I prefer…" His arm suddenly felt snug.

"…something shinier." It was getting pretty hot in here, was a thought that struck Jaune. Very comfortable too. The round of laughter at his expense, didn't help his blush go away, but he did take the opportunity to sneak a hand atop of Militia's thigh. It wasn't cheating on Weiss if they weren't together.

The crimson-suited girl shivered.

"Well how about we take this somewhere else, yeah?" Sterling leaned in closer, a smirk on his face. He was certainly a handsome one. If a bit of a prick.

"Oooh? What're we, like, going to do?" She met his smile, with a smirk of her own. Meanwhile, Jaune and Militia were testing the waters. Lower, closer. Warmer, hotter. She smelled heavenly. His arm felt strong and firm beneath her grip. Yummy.

"What are you doing here, Sterling." Uh oh. Jaune and Militia could not pull back faster, sitting up straight as a Man interrupted their… 'hanky-panky'. Melanie rolled her eyes though kept a grip on Sterling's wrist; of course! Junior had to butt in while things were getting heated up. Thank you, Junior.

"Junior! _Mon Ami!_ It has been too _long_!" He stretched his words. The mood was shot and internally, the silverette sighed. Business before pleasure.

"What brings you around here, Swirling?" A choked cough distracted them, staring at the source of the noise. The Huntsman-to-be was choking on his drink, all the while, Militia patted his back. "S-Sorry."

"Oh, you know _moi_! To see the sights, enjoy myself, _moi Plaisir_ , biz-ness…" he trailed off, his hands turned in grandiose patterns through the air. His smug expression was matched by Junior's unamused face "Family."

"family or Family?" Of course, Jaune groaned. Sterling wasn't here _just_ to see his missing cousin.

"Hmmmm. Why not both?"

"Get out." Jaune groaned. Audibly this time.

"What! But, like, Junior." The twins whined in unison.

"That's enough out of both of you! Go back to the bar." Militia obeyed with little argument, Melanie was more abrasive.

"Fine!" Best not to let the Boss look bad. Too much.

It was silent. In the way that pregnant women could be considered fat: a 'funny' technicality that was liable to get someone hurt.

"Archer. I don't need your caboose going off the rails here. Get out now, and I won't give you a beatdown. On the house." Jaune spotted a red handle that laid against the table. It reminded him too much of Beacon. Ah jeez! The boss of the joint was an ex-Huntsman too?! He was already thinking of ways to get the hell out and not come home with bruises and drained Aura pools. He made his displeasure known.

"Aww man, Sterling! Just once!" he leaned back in exhaustion. There went a good time and a Good Time. He wondered if he could still get that girl – Militia was her name? – scroll-number.

"I know." He shot a look at Jaune, before his eyes settled on Junior. His tongue clicked in thought. "Well, it was nice seeing you again at least." He shouldered past him, Jaune followed in short order. Stammering apologies, he left, though not before asking for Militia's number. He didn't. As they exited the club, 5 men got up from their table and made their way out.

All 5 men were in sight of Junior, as he went back to the bar. Of course! Wherever Archer went he brought trouble.

Sucked that he had to drag some poor pretty boy into it as well. Milita's would be heartbroken if pretty boy got his butt beat.

He went back to cleaning glasses.

Wasn't his problem.

Outside, the young men walked.

"Sterling." The young man kept on walking. His pace wasn't rushed but it certainly wasn't slow. The streets and buildings passed by; the moonlight broken by lampposts. His silver hair was being combed a bit too roughly. Sterling's fingers were threaded through fingerholes that served as a grip. It looked kind of like a switchblade.

"Sterling." The young man grumbled under his breath, Jaune could make out a few words. "Junior", "thanks a lot", "would have scored".

"STERLING!" The young man turned "What!?"

"What else are you here for? I'm not dumb enough to think that I'm the only reason you're here. If you're here on Familie Business, keep me out." Archer took a breath, his eyes roving around when they stopped. A forlorn grin snuck onto Archer's face.

"Well… looks like you don't got much of a choice, _Jean_." Ah darn it! Turning around he recognized who was following them. 5 club patrons dressed in suits, led by a stout lug of a man with thick hands that looked like they crushed stone. He was flanked by men in subdued colors and hats. One of them had some gnarly facial scars.

Jaune felt himself sigh for what felt like the hundredth time that night. His mind had switched off from enjoying the night; he stared while Sterling stood genially smiling, swaying to an invisible song. The group stopped a few feet before the duo, when the big lug that led the group spoke "Mr. Archer. Our employer wishes to speak with you." With what light was around, Jaune could make out a lapel pin. A brass tornado. The Golden Wind Association.

"Oh yeah? Well, tell you what. I'm busy at the moment so if we could reschedule." Scowls and deepened frowns spread across the faces of the Yakuza. _Likewise_ , Jaune thought. He could make out that one of them in the back was putting on brass knuckles and another had slipped something into his hand. A knife? Okay. So, they had weapons and weren't afraid to use them.

"I see. It is a very urgent matter, Mr. Archer. It would not do your health any good if you do not come willingly." The Lug's eyes pierced into Jaune's. Well, that certainly made for a threat. Their eyes narrowed, and Jaune felt himself break out into an old routine. A few quick breaths to get the heart pumping, a few skips, stretching and swinging the arms to warm up, and picking out his targets. "We are willing to do many things. Please reconsider."

The Lug's cohorts began stepping forward: brass knuckles, batons, and a knife.

Archer's silvered hair had been slicked back sufficiently with a steel comb, The comb that swung-out from its grip had been slotted back into place. His fingers were slipped through the convenient fingerholes to get a better grip. Classic Sterling. A comb that was a knuckle duster. He shot Jaune a look, who matched it with his own hawk-like glare. He went out for drinks, got kicked out of a club, hadn't managed to get Militia's number, and was going to get into a fistfight with his cousin.

Well, this was certainly nostalgic…

"Just like old times..." Sterling's grin was matched by matched by Jaune's reluctant smile.

The cousins rushed the goons.

The goons charged, weapons brandished and roaring.

From their battleground, screams of pain, commands, and insults resounded.

* * *

"So…."

"So."

It was a comfortable lull in the early, darkened morning. The cousins laid down on the street, opposite of each other. They were sore. Who knew that these Golden Wind guys would have a bunch of buddies nearby? There had to be at least 50 guys laid out around them, whose bodies were bruised, bones more than likely broken, with their weapons strewn about; in equal state of 'used up', blades were blunted or snapped. Bats and batons had been tossed with extreme prejudice at mooks or 'into the sky'. More exotic weapons also laid about like chains, actual whips, a meteor hammer, shovels, staves, in a wall was a boomerang alongside shuriken and other throwing implements.

Wallets, lien, doodads, and knicknacks were also equally spread.

It was a surreal sight. It would have been grisly, considering the blood that had been flicked around, if it hadn't looked so vaudevillian.

"Kinkaze-Kai?" Sterling groaned, palming his face.

"Yeah… yeah… I uh… I got a job to do in Vale for a bit. Was in your neighborhood so…." That was without a doubt, a thing that Sterling would do.

"A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush?" Jaune couldn't see it, but Sterling nodded.

"Mmm. Mmm." There was a pregnant pause.

"It really has been good to see you again, Jaune." The fox eyed man couldn't help the smile that crept on his face.

"Mm?" Jaune shifted to face him.

"Yeah… the Familie has been pretty busy."

"You guys get in another gang war?"

"C'mon man, it's not like that."

"I doubt the Golden Winds would send a gangster squad after you if that were true."

Sterling made to say something. Nothing came out. Another pause.

"Something's happened. Hasn't it?"

The Archer couldn't hide the wince.

"…There was a car accident in Vacuo. Foul play: big old semi-truck with no driver rammed into a KK motorcade. Killed a bigshot."

That sounded like a setup. The Arc runaway couldn't help but thank the clear-cut morality of killing Grimm.

"Did you do it?"

"No. I don't know who did. But everyone thinks I did it." Sterling breathed deeply. "So, the KKK are gunning for me. Don Archer, of course, believes me. But he's sent me away for the meantime for my own protection." he let out a breath. "But you know Dad…"

Yeah, Uncle Nikolas was the kind of guy who would blend his breakfast together with his coffee, just to get to work quicker. Hell, the way he heard it. The man buried his soldiers in a mass grave just to save on space and cost. Not out of callous cruelty, 'Efficiency' he would claim.

"I really wish you wouldn't be a part of the Milieu, Sterling." Archer shrugged. His smile weak.

"And I really wish you had told me why you used one of my contacts to forge your transcripts." Jaune had the decency to flush. "Oh and _Jean_ , what is zis aboot a _Pee-rah Nee-kos_ , ah? I heard you are, sleeping, with each other."

Jaune weakly whacked Sterling who only continued laughing, louder now.

It was a goodnight all things considered. A good if incredibly strained night.

Just like old times

Just like old times.

* * *

From a distant windowsill, a Faunus looked through lens of a camera, it's sight focused on the two boys resting.

There he was.

Sterling Archer in the flesh. With a familiar cohort. Whose face lit up a memory.

There had been a period of time in Sterling's youth, his mid-adolescence when he had been involved in a kidnapping. That is to say, he had gone frantic in search of someone:

A blonde-haired, blue-eyed cherub of a teenager who had decided to play hero and rescue someone.

Lots of stories sprung up from that time. That a Huntsman commander had asked the Archer Familie to help search for his missing son. That some teenage punk had laid down a devious and grievous smackdown on some racist gangbangers. That the Goldstein and Goldberg families had given an honorary title and anointing upon someone.

The title was a real lofty name, like something from a storyboook… what was it?

Ah yes.

The Lion of Judah.

It was an impossible story: a no-named boy who had no aura had unlocked it in a desperate time, saved lives, beat the daylights of some bad guys, became intertwined with the Milieu, the Goldbergs and Goldsteins.

And to top it all off, no one knew his name.

There was a general description: tall, blonde, Caucasian, with blue eyes. With the only other defining characteristic being the boy's aura: like a white flame that shone from his body.

No one in the mainstream or ordinary world heard of this event. But deep in the underworld, between contacts, channels, onto tables, and through scroll-lines, the name was spread along with a warning:

Don't go messing with the Goldsteins or Goldbergs, or else the Lion of Judah will rip you to shreds.

Everyone knew that the Lion of Judah had never killed but… the number of those hospitalized in a week was just as much as a frightening. But some did not seem to get the memo.

The Kinkaze-Kai had been looking for the Lion, sleuthing around, trying to figure out who he was, where he was. For what purpose? No one knew.

But people were quick to get them to stop.

From what Francine saw, this boy – no… Young man – could very well be the Lion of Judah. Another name that connected the Archer Familie with the KKK, the Vacuoan Mob, with Huntsmen (potentially). Now connected to her own story.

She took a photo of the boy. She'd do what she could to find out who he was. He was definitely a denizen of Vale and from how well he handled himself in a street brawl. He wouldn't be too out of place as a Huntsman. What better place to check than Beacon?

Already a plan was forming in her mind.

There was a trigger point there. The camaraderie between the Silver Fox and this (possible) Lion of Judah had been very clear in that. If she couldn't convince Sterling to tell her what she wanted well…

She chewed on her protein bar mechanically.

 _Soon_ she told the ghosts that haunted her dreams. Soon they would have their peace.

At least she hoped they would.

Sleep did not come easily for Francine.

Unlike it did for Sterling and Jaune.

=0=0=0=

 **AUTHORS NOTE**

 **This is a story that is loosely inspired by Ryu no Gotoku/Like a Dragon or as we know it in the West, "Yakuza". This is nothing more than a one shot. A sort of drabble to see how I could weld elements of Like A Dragon with Yakuza. A test pitch, gauging how well a story could evolve from the premise.**

 **As indicated by this title, will be a first in a series of one-shots. Some related. Some unrelated. Either way, the starting gun has been fired and I hope to at least have some fun with this premise.**

-X-X-X-

 **This story in particular is focused on the fact that "Archer" is derived from "arcus". To me it made sense that a derivative of the nuclear "Arc" family line would change names and go their own way. The story would take a Yakuza 0 and Yakuza 1 approach to the relationship between Sterling and Jaune, akin to Nishiki and Kiryu, two bash-brothers and borderilne. The storyline would be focused on how an 'original' storyline would impact the main story, before there would be some reveals of interconnections and links, as any good Yakuza game has. Culminating in a shirtless fist fight between Sterling Archer and Jaune Arc, on a rooftop, doing Heat Moves, and showing off tattoos**


	2. Blood v Blood

DISCLAIMER: RWBY is property of Roosterteeth Productions, LLC. I am in no way associated with its operations nor the production of RWBY. As I solemnly swear.

X=X=X=X

They stood atop the helipad. Their coats fluttered in the night air.

"What the hell so you think you're doing Jaune?"

His other half, his cousin, his catalyst.

The Better Half, The Wayward Son, The Bright Knight

Jaune Arc, The Knighted Lion

"You can't really think I'd let anyone get away with this?" The Knight's sword and shield were brandished, ready to cut, thrust, and bash. Jaune's glare boiled into his own. Had he always had this sharpness in his eyes? But he had yet to strike him down. Ah right. Pre-battle banter. Jaune was too honorable to shoot a guy for a bad thing.

Heh. You're too much of a good guy, Jaune. That honor before reason malarkey was going to get him killed…

"I'd thought you'd give me a free pass. Family before Friend, right, Jaune?" He chuckled. He couldn't hide his exhaustion, mental and physical. Ah well. It was almost done. No number of heroic speeches were going to stop this.

"Is it really going to be worth it, 'Ling?" Jaune's grimace, was matched by Sterling's apathetic and blasé smile.

"Yes." That really set Jaune, off. By the Brothers, he looked like he would bite someone's head off.

"You're going to kill thousands of people!"

"It's too late to wash our hands. Better them than us!" Sterling's verbal riposte was quick. A glancing blow to Jaune's bastion of ideals.

Cold fury flowed through him. Jaune's Aura glowed. His coat flew off, the tattoo of a lion glared from his back, left void of color. Above it lay the Arc Crest.

"What's the payoff, Sterling? Where does it all _return_ on your _investment_?"

What a prick. Surely, Jaune didn't actually think he was that money-grubbing? Well, self-righteous pricks were always fun to take down a peg.

Sterling's own clothes flew off, and much like Jaune had a tattoo on his back: a centaur with a bow, a spear pierced its belly. The crest of the Archer family.

"You're not the only one with something to lose, Jaune."

Between total annihilation or bloodied survival.

The choice was obvious.

"I know. But there has to be a better way."

Between being held captive and a coward or fighting for the future?

There wasn't any other choice.

They had their honor, like the stories of old, of blood sports and the Arena.

Their heritage to their ancestral Caeser dictated the unspoken rules for this bout.

Their weapons fell to the ground.

Sword and shield

Bow and spear

A windup walk. Which broke out into a run. Their faces set in fury and auras flaring: White and silver respectively.

Fists flew through the air.

A moment in time that would fade into legend.

The ArchKnight vs. The Foxeyed Archer

The Lion of Judah vs. The Silver Bow of Chiron

Jaune Arc vs. Sterling Archer

A story for the ages.

X=X=X

 **AUTHORS NOTE**

A desire to write out a climactic ending without a story in between manifests itself. Boy is it cheesy. Is it canon? Well... that's the funny thing about legends, myths, folk tales, and fairy tales. They change over time by whomever is telling them. Soo...

No it's not canon.


	3. Runaway CHILD

DISCLAIMER: RWBY is property of Roosterteeth Productions, LLC. I am in no way associated with its operations nor the production of RWBY. As I solemnly swear.

"Has anyone seen Jaune?"

"No."

"Nope!"

He tended to slip away after class to do his own thing. "Errands." He'd say. "Taking someone else's shift for the night." He'd say. And very rarely "I have a date."

Time after time, whenever someone saw him leave their room, he'd be dressed in nice clothes: vanilla slacks, vanilla shoes, vanilla jacket, and a faded, patterned yellow shirt.

It was like clockwork. He'd come back at different times. Sometimes early (an hour or two), sometimes extremely late (early mornings and other terrible times) but always: He'd come back. His suit would be ruffled, worn, and stanky. Looking like he had ran a mile or had been fighting.

That morning he had not come back.

That was not unexpected. There had been occasions when he'd rock up late to class or be in class as soon as they arrived.

Not one of them had saw him.

His scroll was either off or he was ignoring them.

 _He's probably sleeping or something,_ Pyrrha's hands clenched and unclenched.

 _When you're in the mood for sweets_

 _Have a bowl of Pumpkin Pete's!_

The jangle of the jingle rang from Pyrrha's scroll. She pulled her scroll out and checked the ID. "It's Jaune."

They waited with baited breath.

"Jaune are you alright? Are you okay? Where are you now? You had us all worried since-"

The red head stopped.

"Pyr... I'm gonna need you... to come to my apartment..." there was a groan of pain from the other end. "Jaune... what's wrong?" She choked.

He didn't sound so good.

There was a distinct sound of something liquidy flowing out of a container. He hissed in pain.

"Jaune?"

"Write this down: 43 Valley Street, Brilliance Apartments."

She hurried for a pen.

"Ask for 'Sean Roma'"

A fake name?

"Jaune? I-i don't understand."

43... Valley Street...

"43 Valley Street, Brilliance Apartments. Sean Roma." He was curt. Concise. Commanding.

The line disconnected.

Oh Brothers!

"43 Valley Street, Brilliance Apartments. 43 Valley Street, Brilliance Apartments" She repeated it like a mantra.

"Pyrrha? Where's Jaune? What happened?" Ren was already dressed for a 'casual' excursion.

"Ooh, you know where Jaune-Jaune is, right Pyrrha?"

"We're going to 43 Valley Street."

Hold on, Jaune. We're coming.

43 Valley Street was near the Central Business District (CBD). At least 10 minutes walk into the 'town' of towering office buildings and department stores. The Kinkaze Zaibatsu has its buildings situated closer to 43rd Street, neighbored by the equally outstanding Goldstein—Archer conglomerate.

But the actual neighborhood where the Brilliance Apartments was decent. Outwardly it appeared rather ordinary, off white color that had been dirtied over time. People hung clothes over clothesline's (or on the rim of balconies), trash and junk laid around, people milled about in their plain clothes.

It made the presence of Team JNPR (-J) all the more noticeable.

Thank the Brothers she covered up – she would have done so anyway but the stares they got felt less... direct with her sunglasses, hat and styled hair–

"We're here."

People around them seemed to walk by faster.

"Did he say what apartment number?"

Pyrrha could feel someone's eye on her.

"No... just buzz in and the name 'Sean Roma'." That was also puzzling. A pseudonym? The only reason that he would do that, was if he was in danger. An instinctive, comforting thought that drove her brain to makeup all kinds of stories explaining all this weirdness. Some criminal, some carnal, and all crazy.

He was a Huntsman (in-training)! He seemed savvy enough to live by himself with little money but lot of street wisdom, if his story about being a runaway was true. But what if... What if his late nights had him mess with the wrong people? What if they were too late and by the time they got there, he was gone? What if they found him in a bathtub full of ice?

"Don't worry Jaune! We're coming!"

Her train of thought had its emergency brakes pulled.

Purposeful strides brought the human wrecking ball, that was Nora Valkyrie, towards the entrance of the complex. The entrance exterior had a series of lockers for mail with buttons on them. So she pressed them. All of them.

 _Ding ding ding ding_

"Nora!" The girl cheerily turned to her partner.

"Whaaat?" Ren sighed.

"We can use the intercom, instead." His finger directed her sight to a smallish box that protruded from a wall.

"Oh yeaaaaah. Thanks Renny."

She jabbed her finger into button, with dramatic gravitas and exaggerated ceremony. Buzzing the consigliere. There was click before a gruff, grumpy voice barked from the speakers "What?! What!? I've already told you he's not here. If I see him I-"

The voice cut off. Before the woman's voice made a bemused "Huh...". There was the sound of a voice clearing, a very audible drag from a cigarette, and exhale. "Sorry about that, thought you were someone else. Now. What brings a coupla kids to 'Casa Brilliance'?"

Pyrrha spoke before Nora could say anything. "We're to see our friend, J-. Sean. Sean Roma?" Nice going girl, you totally don't sound like a shady con artist. No way the older woman on the line didn't hear that! "We heard he wasn't feeling okay. We wanted to come over to see how he was."

The redhead clicked off, waiting for a response. The silence was thick enough to be cut and made the already mysterious atmosphere much more tense and awkward.

"Can I get a name, Ms..." The Strongest Girl felt herself shudder. Suddenly, the enterprising eyes of people around them, some watching from balconies like the aunties and grannies of Mistral, made her feel naked. The niggling thought returned. What if Jaune was in more danger than they thought?

"Nikos." She gulped. Here we go... "Pyrrha... Nikos."

A pregnant pause.

"Huh. Didn't know he was into that sort of thing. Alright. You come in, go straight to the red elevator. The lift will take you straight to him." A lecherous cackle crawled through the speaker and the redhead couldn't help but glow a beet red.

The lobby was pretty standard: a long desk that connected to a side room where the consigliere rested watching a television, dressed in a simple sleeveless throw-on tank top. She had curly salt and pepper hair, wrinkles that had wrinkles, flabby grandma arms and a cigarette trapped between fingers.

She was exactly what they expected.

"Thank you Ms. Brilliance Apartment Lady!"

The amused smile that crinkled the consigliere's face gave Ren and Pyrrha the impression that she was holding something back. That niggling feeling returned. Stepping into the elevator had not helped it go away.

The ride up the red elevator was uneasy. The interior was plain with its metallic, almost reflective walls. The "ascent/descent indicator" passed floor after floor, with little trouble. Guess the Lift really did go directly to the apartment.

Ding!

The doors opened, revealing a shortish hallway. Enough room for a single door which made since there was only a single door.

"A single floor for a single apartment?" Ren raised a fascinated brow.

"That's usually for penthouses." He supposed the local celebrity (and only celebrity) of Team JNPR would know about that.

That just raised more questions.

 _Jaune_. Pyrrha though as she made her way to the door. Y _ou better have a good reason for all this..._

Shadiness? Sneakiness? Whatever it was. There had to be a reason

Knock. Knock.

Putting her ear to the door, she could hear someone move a chair. Something... _someone_ whimpered. Someone cautiously stepped closer to the door. It... might have sounded like Jaune's footsteps. The door made it kind of hard to make out anything.

"Jaune. It's me. Pyrrha." The door didn't open and there was no response. If this wasn't Jaune, she... well someone was probably going to get hurt.

"Jaune-Jaune! Me and Renny are here tooooOooooOOoo~" Nora's bubbliness was contagious. Both remaining members couldn't help but smile.

Another bout of silence.

There was click. A slide. A chink! And the sound of a doorknob being turned.

The door ominously swung out.

"Jaune, what were... you..." She stared. Long and hard. She knew he had tattoos, it was unavoidable when you lived in the same dorm together for months. There had been many opportunities to peek at his tattoos though never a full view of them. What she could make out, back then, were designs not dissimilar to traditional Mistrali tattoo: artistic shapes that shone with bright color around his back and definitely the front. Dark lines mostly. Though she could recall that his front had red and orange tints. Nothing like the typical tribal tattoos that she had spotted on a few Huntsmen, Fighters, or tough guys.

His tattoos reminded her of goldfish scales.

But now this...

This was something: a koi fish swam over his right breast, there were hints of tattoos that emanated from his waist and groin, and crawling up his hip was what looked like a knife with a banner that zigzagged across the blade bearing a motto in an old language. And his arms.

How could she forget his arms! His left bore a sleeve that went to his mid-forearm on it a somber, kingly figure dressed in finery was surrounded by a servant, a monk and a knight, above them was the Arc family crest that hung above the figure like a halo. Done in the Gothic style, Ren idly noted.

His right depicted a far more familiar image of various flowers – peonies, cherry blossoms, and lotuses – that surrounded a turtle.

Done in traditional irezumi, it made for a serene and surreal image that added to the fear factor of Jaune–and wasn't that surprising!

His front and side – and presumably his back – were littered with bruises, cuts, and what looked like faded scars that dotted his body. Some of them were recent. Some of them were still enflamed, healing, stitched up or shrunk. All of it framed by lithe muscle and a distinct glare. She instinctively stepped back, reaching for a weapon that wasn't there.

"Wow Jaune! You kinda look like those guys, Renny and I used to see in Mistral!" He snorted, his tired frown lit up just a smidgen. He was still Jaune… just a side that none of them had ever seen in such detail. Or really ever.

"It's complicated." It was simple his stepping to the side, ushering them in with a welcoming hand. "All of this is complicated."

The interior was surprisingly spartan with empty bookcases, tables, no potted plants, little to no personal belongings anywhere, and barren walls with no décor. It was a very uneasy thing, this 'empty room psyche', she was much more used to their dorms or home in Mistral. Nora in particular seemed wide-eyed, her eyes bouncing in a frenzy taking everything. Guess she was trying to find some 'piece of life' in the room.

At least the floors were tile. They were a bit dirty and the smell of ammonia lingered around.

The door closed. The various bolts and locks came down. Before he finally turned to them.

"Who are you reAAAAAALLlllly? Are you a spy? Eh, Jaune Arc? If that is your real name." Nora's international interrogator got it's little hurrah, as she squinted at Jaune (or whoever he was), a pointed finger stabbed straight forward, punctuated by a prolonged "Mmmmmmm?".

"Nora, calm down. But she has a point." Ren stood stiffly, his survey of the room finished, he stared with a fascinated eyebrow. "What's with all the secrecy?"

Yeah, Jaune. You couldn't even trust your own partner with… She nipped that mental voice in the bud. Give him the benefit of the doubt. Innocent before proven guilty. Yes, yes. Trust him. He _is_ your partner. Really wished he at least said something about this…

Jaune walked over to a kitchenette, taking time to grab a bottle of something that looked like spirits from behind a drawer along with four glasses. He set them down on the table. Pouring the brandy into the rocks glasses. As he hummed a song, the rest of Team JNPR made their over to table, taking a seat. Pyrrha directly across Jaune, flanked by Ren and Nora.

"Do you know if anyone suspicious saw you?" The question felt right at home in a spy movie. Right before, the secret bad guy killed you. A thought that was unsurprisingly running through Nora's mind.

"No….?" Pyrrha ran through her mind. The timeframe of the last 30 minutes. It felt like only civilians watched them but if there were some unsavory types stalking them then well… she grew still.

"If you mean big coats and sunglasses and nice hats? Noooooo." Ren shook his head, inspecting his drink.

"Good." He cupped a hand and faced away into a bedroom. "Kenny, you can come out now."

The group shared a look. Reaching for scrolls, ready to rocket locker their weapons here. They promptly put it away once they saw who "Kenny" was.

A youngish boy with small, violet eyes that were framed by a shock of strawberry blonde hair. He looked young but not old enough to be in elementary school. He was short, all the more apparent with the large jacket that he wore. Pyrrha felt her heart melt as he looked so vulnerable, with his slanted eyes wide, walking cautiously, keeping the strangers in sight. The child made his way to Jaune's side where he was picked up by Jaune and sat on his lap.

"Arukou-san, who ara dees pee-pur?" He even had a cute accent! She couldn't help the smile and small 'squee' of delight that escape her. Nora _definitely_ couldn't.

"OH MY GOSH! AREN'T YOU JUST SUPER CUTE! HA-HA! Wait! Does this mean you're a daddy? WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN?! HAVE YOU BEEN CHEATING ON PY-" She shot a look at Ren followed by Pyrrha, before she let out a nervous chuckle "I mean… you didn't happen to uh…" she waggled her eyebrows.

The unamused expression on Jaune's face brought a giggle from "Kenny".

"No. Actually, he's kind of the reason why I've been out for so long."

That got all of them to lean in, staring intently. The Boy and the Shirtless Man. Mmmm. In a hormonal part of her brain, Pyrrha licked her lips.

"This is Kenshin Bennosuke. The son of Takezo Bennosuke and Katerina Sforza. The son of a former yakuza Huntsman and a Valean noble. The only free Sforzi out there, since the Orsini Family has been busy getting all Sforza's arrested or…" The boy whimpered, clutching onto Jaune.

"I knew his dad… and I met his mom." He sighed, tapping his foot against the floor. All was quiet.

"He's seen some bad things. He's seen some faces. He's the sole witness that can help put away some very bad men." He ran a hand through his hair, before taking a drink. "Ah." That went down smoothly.

"I'm not asking you to do anything…"

"We'll do it." Of all people, it was Ren that said what was on the rest of the team's minds

"I wasn't finished…" He stared at all of them. "I'm going to ask you to do nothing. I don't want you guys to get involved with this."

Nora looked ready to burst with a cry for 'great justice.'

She was interrupted.

"But I know you'll just do the exact opposite. So…" He took another drink.

"We're here for you, and Kenny." Pyrrha smiled kindly at the boy, who shyly dug his way into Jaune's chest.

"Yeah! No bad guys are walking away without broken legs!" Nora's eyes bore a thunderstorm of righteousness. Finally a chance to break legs with impunity and moral superiority.

"Agreed." Ren was stoic as always.

"Alright. We gotta get out of here. The Orsini are sniffing around so uhh…" He pointed at the door. As if on cue, a knock was heard.

"Messer Leone, we know you are in-a here." A voice, sounded it came from Western Vacuoan rolled out. He set the kid down, who dutifully duck down behind the kitchenette counter, taking a bugout bag. "Jaune…. What's the plan?"

The Man of the Hour rolled his shoulder, stretching out his body, throwing a few warm up punches and kicks. "Drink up."

He himself downed it, Nora, Ren, and then Pyrrha followed. Whoa. That was… Strong stuff.

He gingerly held the bottle of brandy, screwing the top on it, he looked at it thoughtfully.

There was another knock. Well… more like the thump of a forceful hammer. The door thankfully held.

"Well… I'm not jumping out any windows with the kid if that's what you're thinking. We fight our way out like true Huntsman." Like heroes.

"Any weapons?" At Ren's question, he gestured around him. "I was planning on buying new furniture anyway." That got a gleeful giggle from Nora who broke a chair tossing one of the wooden legs to Ren. The flat look that Ren gave Jaune and Nora went ignored.

"Pyrrha can you use your Semblance to sense metallic objects?" Pyrrha shook her head. "Not really. I think the walls are made of steel." Team Lead nodded. At least they'd have to make a big mess to break in. Loud explosion near the CBD? Everyone, both legal and black would be on the Orsini's asses. Especially the police. Though that would draw to much attention to him. Hmmmmm.

He knocked over the table, setting it up like a barricade. The thumping got louder, accompanied by swears, grunts, and muffling arguing.

The deadbolt bent inwards.

"These guys probably don't have aura so be careful not to uh…." A sobering thought that made the

"Kenny, don't come out until we say so." The boy nodded

Just as the door slammed inwards, he catapulted the bottle of brandy he had been carrying.

"GAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" The man clutched at his face, and the men behind him reflexively blinked as spirits and glass shards fell upon them. The guy was pushed to side as the other goons rushed in.

"Time out!" Nora's impromptu club bashed skulls and broke legs, as Team JNPR pushed forward. Pyrrha threw a mix of spearhands into soft targets: solar plexus, throat, and cracking ribs with strong punches when she was not throwing chopping straights and jabs. Ren countered, pressing pressure points, jabbing with knuckles into joints, and sending kicks crashing against knees and shins.

The glorious beatdown was interrupted by a roaring Jaune who shot for a takedown. He crashed into belly of one of them, which did not stop the pain train as he was sent falling backwards, against a conga line of bad guys. He cleared the doorway of bad guys, and was followed promptly by the Nora and Ren. Pyrrha made to follow before delivering a soccer kick into the sides of the men. That would stop them from thinking about getting Kenny.

In the small hallway, guys dressed in suits (how cliché) were fistfighting against the rest of them. Though Jaune in particular was a whirlwind almost literally as he grabbed guys by their legs and spun around, knocking over the Orsini with extreme prejudice, the crescendo of the attack was a powerbomb that questioned Jaune's earlier statement about 'reasonable force'. Around them, the more cowardly of the thugs turned tail as they forced their way through the fire exit. "Where are you going?! Get back here! Fine then! Be a woman!" One guy with a greased moustache who stood far easier turned to glare at Jaune.

"I've got the Leone!" The Lion in question had just slammed a guy's head into a wall, only to be blindsided by a flying kick that sent him sprawling to the ground. "JAUNE!"

As he steadied himself, his gaze found themselves locked on to his opponent's. Who had since pulled out a cane that sprouted a bull ship, and a 3-legged camping stool. He could spot the carbine mechanisms. Mechashift.

"If you think you're gonna kill me, I'd like to know your name." His opponents grim eyes stabbed back. Anger. Exhaustion. The guy probably wanted to clock out. Jaune was stalling and the other guy knew it. For whatever reason he was playing along. But a bullwhip-cane and a stool-machine gun… that sounded familiar.

"The name's Daniel Van Amburgh." Oh.

Oh!

Daniel van Amburgh,

The Lion Tamer.

Jaune chuckled. Yang would probably have liked that: Lion Tamer vs Lion of Judah.

A bastard child vs a dishonorable runaway

A retired huntsman vs huntsman-in-training

Heh.

"Let's see which one of us gets tamed." The slight twitch of Daniel's eyes was a small victory. Yang would've been proud.

He felt his aura wreathe him like a flame. The Heat of battle was getting to him, and there would be little that could get him to just keel over and die.

Yeah… he had too many people counting on him for that.

They stood there, waiting for the other to move.

The sounds of battle coalescing around them.

One of them moved.

The other flicked his wrist.

The fight was on.

=X=X=X=

 **AUTHORS NOTE**

A traditional take on Yakuza. Experimenting with minimal fight scenes.


	4. I'm Neo-w in Town

DISCLAIMER: RWBY is property of Roosterteeth Productions, LLC. I am in no way associated with its operations nor the production of RWBY. As I solemnly swear.

OH GOD WHY!?

It was just his luck that things would spiral out of his control.

A mute, sexy, and cute pint-sized powerhouse was a demoness eager to get him into all kinds of trouble.

Where did it all begin?

Yeah, that's when it all started. Just a lonesome, vulnerable, young huntsman-in-training out in the concrete jungle of Vale. He had been out to get some ice cream when she had approached him. Daintily skipping, she had handed him his pilfered wallet, his pockets having been picked by some ratty orphans (metaphorically, they weren't Faunus). Somehow snatching his wallet from the hands of the little scamps without their notice. He had decided to treat her to something.

An All-You-Can-Eat Ice-cream Parlour, of all things. Not that he was complaining but he could appreciate a bowl or cone of ice-cream but not enough that he'd fill himself up full of that creamy goodness. He had acquiesced with her request (she had pretty doe eyes, so sue him! They were his weakness) and now found his wallet significantly lighter than before. Was this her clever scheme? Hire orphans to get him to treat her to ice cream?

He looked over to her, her gleeful smile as she ate was betrayed by the smoky look she gave him as she licked her spoon…

Okay. Wow! He was uh… That would be stuck in his head for a while.

She tittered behind her hand. Ever silent. Ever smug. Ever seductive.

She winked at him.

He was not amused.

"Please tell me you're done." The girl's impudent grin told him all he needed to know.

It was interrupted when a group came in. Rowdy and rough looking. Shaved heads, dyed hair, leather jackets, chains, studs, and spikes. A wild and unruly look that had many patrons turn away or hastily walk out. Neo got up, taking Jaune by the hand, to the exit of the store, and as they walked a foot tripped Jaune. He screeched. It sounded like a cross between a nevermore and little girl's scream with more vibrato.

"What the!" "Oy, watch it bruv!" "Get offa me, man." "Hey, hey! Careful, bro."

On the ground, the tumbled, crumpled, and irate patron (and patrons to be) squirmed and wriggled their way out of the scrum. Dusting themselves off and each other off. A helping hand lifted Jaune from the ground.

"Sorry about that." He sheepishly smiled. The punk who helped him up gave a strained smile. "S'nothing mate. Just a bungle. S'all forgiven'."

They stood there for a few moments just standing there hands interlocked. The giggles and laughter of the patrons reminded Jaune of what just transpired. Oh god! Someone must have recorded that!

He looked around and spotted maybe a few people recording or sending a ShotChat to their friends, others laughed privately.

"Right…. So I'm gonna go now…"  
"Please.…my pride can only take so much in a day."

With an awkward goodbye, he shuffled out of there avoiding all eye contact when he could. His face lit up like a Festimas Pole.

He was pleasantly surprised by the small woman who stood there with an ice-cream cone in hand.

Two in fact.

"Is that for me?" She nodded, pleased.

Vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry. The 3 fundamental flavours that all ice-cream connoisseurs had to try.

It was good.

"Thanks uh… oh… oh no." He was staring at a recording of what had happened, she had been recording the incident and the sound he made was…

The less heard it, the better he felt. His eyes begged her.

"Can you delete that?" She brought her scroll to her breast, looking up in the air as though actually considering it before she shook her head.

He sighed. She giggled.

"I'm glad at least someone had a good time…" His wallet had been stolen and returned out of the goodness of this girl's heart. Which had reared its devilish horns by her voracious appetite and his pride had also been shot. In front of a whole bunch of people. It could have been worse.

There was a crack of thunder and it began to rain.

He was resigned to just accept it when the patter of rain became muted.

The stylish girl had brought an umbrella. She held it over both of them before she put it in his hand and latched onto his other arm.

"Wha- uh, hmmmmm. Ah. Hey!" He was not too sure what to feel. His chastity was showing. A random woman he had just met after taking her out to eat ice-cream was…

Was this a date?

A pretty young thing like her with a doofus like him?

His ego was erected.

"Well, how about we uh… go somewhere quiet?"

He wouldn't remember much of what happened that night.

But when he woke up it was a sight to see: an absolutely wrecked room, waaaaaay too many empty bottles strewn around the room, he had a nipple clamp hanging off one nipple, he was wearing leather chaps and a pair of golf shoes, a boombox was playing bit-crunched pop tunes at half speed, several bills were taped to a mirror, on his head was a woman's thong (that smelt vaguely like ice-cream), messages were sprayed across the ceiling, a shotgun sheathe laid atop a table.

More importantly he ached all over, there were hickeys and lipstick stains all over his body, welts from bruises tingled along his back (and his butt), and photos of wild shenanigans laid across his bed. Neo was nowhere in sight. He answered his scroll trying his best to ignore his hangover.

"Hello?"

"Jaune, where are you?" Pyrrha. Oh dear.

"Uh… that's a good question…" Nora was squawking in the background.

He got entered his bathroom. The bathtub was full of kool-aid and a goldfish swam in the toilet bowl.

"Mr. Arc." Oh. No!

"M- Ms. Goodwitch!"

"You will head back to Beacon immediately where you will go to Headmaster Ozpin's office. Do you understand?'

Oh god…

He was dead.

So dead.

"Yes, m'am."

He looked into the mirror.

A bruised face covered in lipstick stared back at him.

FIND OUT WHAT THE HECK HAPPENED

ONE CRAZY NIGHT START!

=X=X=X=

 **AUTHORS NOTES**

A drabble that went off the rails. A shame. Supposed to be a part of the Like a Lion collection, as a 'side quest' but needs to be reworked. Reframed. Rephrased.

Intention of the story was going to be akin to the Yakuza 0 Sidequest where you try to get the kid's Dragon Quest game to him. Lots of bad things happening after another.


	5. That's Rad SPICY Edition

DISCLAIMER: RWBY is property of Roosterteeth Productions, LLC. I am in no way associated with its operations nor the production of RWBY. As I solemnly swear.

* * *

Another day in combat class.

Another day spent watching Huntsman and Huntresses.

It was enjoyable, the sheer spectacle of these fighters going at it using superhuman abilities and cool weapons.

It was also enjoyable to watch the stunning - what seemed to be universal - beauties go at it. Beauty and brawn.

And jiggles in some particular cases.

He would be lying if he had not caught himself peeking as the blonde bombshell whose audacious grin and badass fighting moves really caught his attention. Not that he was the only one.

But today was different, he had been watching her for some time. I mean who wouldn't? Was his defense. She was beauty, she was grace, she'd punch your block off and wreck your face. She was one hell of a woman.

He'd seen her fight: incredibly fast, juking-weaving-bobbing-and-dashing to and around her opponents, using the recoil of Ember Cecila to increase mobility or add stopping power to her already monstrous strength, round kick finishers, and brutal elbow thrusts.

Something… there was something about what she was doing

He felt a burning sensation in his mind. Abstract. Like a puzzle pieces flowing together.

Eureka! A metaphorical thunderbolt struck him with inspiration, flashes of what she did, her movements and technique being replicated by an abstract doppelganger of himself. Shifting weight to dodge, following up with a flurry of punches, dashing back, only to rocket forward with a chopping straight. Using his shield as a weight to spin and either strike with the shield rim or jab with an elbow. Flying kicks. Flying stabs and superman punches.

This was clear. This was pure knowledge.

This…

Was a revelation.

"That's rad." His whisper drew the attention of Pyrrha.

"I beg your pardon?"

Just as the match ended with a decisive victory for Yang (to no one's surprise).

"Would Jaune Arc and Pepper Potts come down?"

Pepper Potts? Team JNPR turned to see the leader of Team PINC (Punk), a girl with red hair with neon green highlights side-buzzed. A dark tanktop that bore a half-human, half-Grimm skull, chains hooked her pocket to her studded belt. Which brought attention to her choice of weaponry: a sawn-off shotgun with sling that wrapped around one of her shoulders, her tomahawk was already in hand.

His gulp was justified. Why did the other side of the tomahawk have to have so many spikes?

She shot him a look, her baleful eyes popped against her mascara. She smirked.

Already he was coming up with plans. She wasn't necessarily an unknown, she had come up here and there but mostly against faster 1st years, which Jaune definitely did not qualified for. She had a gun that was also a grenade launcher. It was redundant in his mind, she would have been better off with a rifle and underslung grenade launcher attachment. Oh wait. He was thinking like a normal person again. Laws of physics were more lenient to the Huntsman 'demigods'.

Tank the shotgun blast with shield (truly genius on your part, Jaune). She had the advantage in range (he really should invest in longer range options or something) but he had the advantage in melee… well no, because she could blast him again with the shotgun. Or cut whack him or chop him good with the hatchet (did it have something special about it besides those scary looking spikes).

Pepper's thoughts were simpler.

Ugh, team loser of Juniper. A good rhyme, she packed it away for later songwriting. Sword-and-shield, super-old fashioned. It was almost how amazing his losing streak was. He wasn't worth the effort. He seemed skittish, looking at her, around the arena, at her weapons, and her face.

Could he be anymore nervous? She feinted a bite. He backed away startled.

She chuckled. Okay, he could. Cute.

They stood opposite of each other, standing within striking distance. The rules never stipulated how far away they were from each other, only that they were evenly split. No pre-match flanking. Already, their faces and aura meters were loaded.

"Begin."

KIUUUUUU KIUUUUU

The crack of the shotgun rang out almost instantly, the muzzle flash lit up her face. Fast enough to scar his Aura. He could imagine Yang fighting her: she'd enjoy a close-quarters-combat match with the girl. Lots of shotgun blasts. What would Yang say?

"Well ain't this blast?" His quip garnered a bemused look from the punk across from him. She hadn't ejected her used shells yet. A tomahawk was in her hand.

"Yeah!" He turned to see Yang shaking a fist in solidarity.

"Don't encourage her!" Ruby's nasally voice rung with audible disapproval. He almost missed the tomahawk that she had unsheathed.

The opposing team leader rushed at him with her tomahawk, her hack cut into his centerline when her hand suddenly turned her grip. His eyes bulged as the back of the axe was brought back into his sword-arm, like a rubber band snapping, the spiked back of the axe was sent stabbing into his wrist. _Keep your grip on your weapon_. Pyrrha's lesson came back. He slipped to her side, bringing his shield edge forward to bash Pepper in the face. If only he had been faster.

His opponent pivoted, spot-turning out of the attack and throwing the hapless knight off balance. Spinning the shotgun, she ejected the shells with a flourish, the tomahawk half-spinning. The spikes facing forward once more.

All at the same time.

Darn she was good!

She sent a straight kick into the side of his knee, knocking him over. _His head throbbed again. The Heat building up_.

He spun with his momentum. Knee still throbbing, face still caught wincing, stabilizing himself like a top. He stood shakily. He couldn't stop himself.

"I didn't knee-d that." Pepper shot him a dirty look.

Uh oh.

She also shot him. KIUUU!

"Sod off ya cheeky monkey." She wasn't impressed.

"Whooo! Go Jaune!" Yang's grin was like a cat caught the canary.

"JAUNE!" Weiss and Ruby's pained whine brought an equally pleased smile to Jaune's face.

He deflected the shot, wasn't much to holding one's shield out and assume a smaller position. A pitter-patter of feet. Suddenly his shield was pulled to the side and a knife was jabbed into his side. Wha-!? "GAH!" Right. Tomahawk. Hooked his shield. Smart move. Hidden knife or something. Got stabbed. Ouch. His mind was figuring things out in a burst of inspiration. She had put her whole body into that thrust and hadn't pulled back yet.

He could use this.

He dropped his sword.

"HAH!" His shield arm hooked over her right arm. The tough gloves would keep it from digging into his arm. He pivoted, like a flail, carrying Pepper along for the ride who yelped as she was whipped about. A fist caught her in the gut. "Guh!". Another in the chest. Another in the gut! God! Bean-pole could pack a punch. Just as she was about to catch her breath, a open-palm uppercut to the throat sent her reeling back; giving Jaune enough time to pick up his sword.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to take your breath away." His hands shielded his mouth. There was a few boos in the crowd, although Yang herself nodded in silent applause. Much to the rest of her team's displeasure. Good one, Jaune.

He turned to Goodwitch, his sudden confidence gone as he realized just how brutal he had been.

The Combat Instructor sent a stern look at him. Before her gaze softened a mite. She hadn't stopped the fight yet so…. He turned to Pepper.

"A- Sorry about that. Um, since this is a spar no hard feelings…?" The murderous glint in Pepper's eyes dissuaded him of any grace.

He whimpered.

She jumped back as she activated pulled on something on her shotgun. "Tosser!" A barrage of grenades came hurtling forward. Nora was worse but…

The Knight of JNPR felt his throat dry. This was gonna suck. Pupils dilating as he stared at the flying darts of explosive death, he leapt and rolled out of the way, cushioning the blast with his shield until a lucky shot blew him off his feet.

As he squatted his way up, he felt another part of Yang break out in that moment. Pepper's rapid footsteps becoming louder and louder to him.

"That was gren-ate." He had enough time to wink as the shotgun barrel was pressed against his stomach. "THAT WASN'T EVEN A PUN!" it felt like a sledgehammer tore up his stomach. The tomahawk spike cracking his skull felt more like a rock.

As he was knocked back onto the group, he barreled his way away from Pepper whose shotgun barked before she had to reload it. Now!

He rolled to his feet before he sprinted at her. Her eyes were trained on him, as her shotgun was left hanging from its sling in favor of her tomahawk. Meeting his sprint with a raised tomahawk and knife. "RAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH"

They clashed. Knife against shield. Shield bashing it away, only for Jaune to step back as the tomahawk came hurtling toward him. Sword parried axe. He swung out. She kicked him in the shin. His sword was sent reeling as he righted himself. He retaliated with a shield bash. She backed off hooking her tomahawk on the edge of the shield. He pulled the shield towards himself and smacked her in the gob. He felt the knife stab against his arm.

"Don't get cocky, cocksucker!" Her teeth gnashed. No way was she going to lose the buttmonkey of buttmonkies.

"Language!" Goodwitch's lambast was ignored.

She backed off, before dashed at him, weapon raised. He raised his shield to block an attack. It never came. The girl in question had managed to get around him _. A feint_. She took him down, sending both of them to the ground. Painfully, he might add, as soon as they landed she scrambled onto his side. _Technical mount_. Deflecting an aimless swing and wrenching his sword of his hand, he twisted his body getting his back almost flush to the ground. She struck!

More like she ferreted her way out from under him, and getting his arm into a lock. The handle of the axe and blade of the knife dug into his arm painfully. He felt angry. Angry and tired. He yelled, she yelped. He swung her into the ground, her aura shone from the impact, but she didn't let go. So he flung her. A heave of effort sent her sprawling onto the arena floor Her grip on her tomahawk went slack. Her eyes darted to the aura meters. No way.

No. WAY.

Was she losing to some jammy tosspot who had lost every. Single. Match.

She felt hot. She felt ANGRY. She felt her aura buildup.

There was a reddish haze that began to surround the two.

Her eyes found themselves shooting holes into her opponent. Her glare punctuated by a sudden warcry. Jaune's own eyes glowed red. This… This was ANGER. This was HATE. FRUSTRATION.

It was sudden.

Something was wrong.

As if the people sitting in the rows closest to the arena suddenly shifting uncomfortably wasn't sign enough.

Was this her…?

Pepper pounced like a wildcat, slamming her hatchet into his chestpiece. Striking again and again until she couldn't drag it out. "GRAAAAHH" Her scream was beastly. It sent chills spiraling into his core. He felt hot. He felt ANGRY. He just wanted this fight to be over. His little experiment had failed. No amount of universal enlightenment would help him. His own aura began building up too.

His hand snatched Pepper's wrist and sqUEEZEDDD. "ARGH!" Her left hand swung her knife down onto his grasping hand.

CHNK

The blade had been stopped by his other hand. The tang cracked. Just a tad.

"SERIOUSLY!?"

The vice-like grip squeezed tightly. They were in a deadlock. She was ACTUALLY LOSING TO THIS WANK STAIN?!

Not if she could help it!

She rocked herself, forward and backwards, trying her best to break the grip to no avail. "LET. GO. YOU. COCK. SUCKER!" Each word enunciated with a pull-and-push of her hands. Jaune's head bucked into the hard floor.

"YOU FIRST!" With a bridging of his hips (a move that brought a round of wolf-whistles, jeers, and sputtering) she was sent careening behind him. She flipped into a sprinter's stance and was off like a bullet. Her aura was glittering around her, wreathing her in red flames. Jaune's own aura shone like a bonfire. Glowering and glowing.

"JAAUUUUUUUUUUNEEEE!" He sprinted into her, her knife still in one hand. "PEPPPAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

A boot to her knee. A knife into his spleen. A moment frozen in time.

They stood stock still. His boot still pressed against her knee. Her knife still pressed against his spleen.

They hadn't even noticed the purple glow that surrounded both of them. Stopping them in their tracks not a minute too soon.

"THAT IS ENOUGH! Both of you!" The two huntsmen-in-training still glared at each other. But they could feel their breath leaving their bodies. Their hearts beating. The world around them coming back into focus once again. The adrenaline wearing off.

"Oh… oh no…" He looked into Pepper's eyes. Wow that was…

"Hah… Hah…" She looked in Jaune's eyes. Yeah, she would need a cigarette.

"The match is over. Getting caught in the flow of the fight, is no excuse for recklessness." Goodwitch's words were no longer muffled.

The two were separated from each other on opposite arena exits where their respective team's waited.

"Ms. Nikos. Ms. Baum." Obeyed, keeping their gaze focused on their injured teammates. They left taking their respective leaders away and as they were led away, Pyrrha was already being followed by the rest of her team, who were talking, chatting, and recounting the whole fight with little input from their leader (well the orange chick was talking, everyone else was silent).

For Pepper Potts? It was a silent and almost sedate. Peaceful enough that she could reflect.

Jaune Arc, huh? Who knew he had it in him? She was happy…. Glad even. Good to see the underdog step up and prove himself…

She couldn't keep the smile off her face as she was led off.

"Sooooo… was it just me or was there a lot of things…. Going on?" Yang was beaming.

The puns. The focus on getting up and close. Glowing aura. All very familiar. Mimicry.

"That was just like one of my Mistrali graphic novels…"

Well… he certainly put up an interesting fight. Unlike any of the fights they had seen all semester. Woooh! She fanned herself.

That last bit though…

The glowing, the melodrama, the final blows about to be struck…

"That was Rad…"

* * *

 **AUTHORS NOTE**

A more focused practice of a fight scene. It lacks tension. It lacks flow. There's something that doesn't feel exciting. Almost juvenile. Anyways… Hopefully this experiment in fight scenes was at least a little engaging. A poor attempt at a ship tease. Wish I had time to put in more innuendos. Uncertain if I should bump up the rating for this.

I dunno.

There will be a different version of this up at a later date.

EDIT (29/05/2018): user "garoorar" made me aware of formatting issues. Repeated reuploads of updated chapter and new chapter has been performed. Linked to formatting performed in the original draft.

OC DONUT STEEL:

Team PINC (Punk) features Pepper Potts, Incheon Montoya, Nix Aries, and Cherry Baum. Further research and development is required in order to shape up these stereotypes (read: characters).

HUNTRESS PROFILE

 **Team PINC (Punk)**

Pepper Potts

Incheon Montoya

Nix Shears

Cherry Baum

 **Pepper Potts**

Race: Human

Role: Squad Lead/CQB/Grenadier/Officer

Age: 18

POB: Vale

Weapon:

 **Shank** : Tomahawk with an integrated knife that can be ejected and dual-wieldeded. It bears a simple mechanism that fires the top (part of the spine) like a ballistic knife though can also be used to launch the knife like… well a ballistic knife. Characterized by the 2 long spikes on the back of the head. Large head, might be called a hatchet if it had a wedge.

 **Bank** : Sidearm-shotgun/grenade launcher. It's default form is that of a crude looking sawn-off shotgun, about the length of Pepper's forearm with an under-barrel grenade launcher. Grenade launcher mode can be activated via pull cord, which uses cylinders to store grenades. This secondary barrel can be pulled to extend the choke, although quite finnicky to do.

Tools: N/A

Color Scheme: Primary black, dark gray, and muted browns with neon highlights (red, green, yellow)

Semblance:

 **Powderkeg** \- Support-type Semblance, augments the emotions of nearby Aura-filled individuals. This increases aggression and anger while augmenting Aura's strength enhancement capabilities. The effect of its strength enhancement and aggression maximizer is multiplied by the number of people that are affected by her semblance perhaps like a botnet.

Description: Pissy, anti-Prissy, and jealous of her older sister Poppy who ironically got the Team PINK name (much to her consternation) and decided to get back at her sister by being confrontational, brash, and unkempt. Unlike her prim and proper sister. With her perfect hair, and gorgeous eyes, who never felt like the bottom of the barrel. Hardworking? Somewhat. Dedicated to being a damn good huntress? No doubt about it.


	6. Here We Go Vacuo Pt 1

DISCLAIMER: RWBY is property of Roosterteeth Productions, LLC. I am in no way associated with its operations nor the production of RWBY. As I solemnly swear.

* * *

"MMMM!" The men torturing him did not laugh. They did not cry.

They did not pay too much attention actually. One guy was on his scroll playing games, at a table three others were playing a (friendly) game of cards, or they stood around, and the chief 'information retrieval technician' was grim-faced. This wasn't fair. This was a god-awful situation for everyone.

Some kid off the street had taken the Goldberg-stein kid they were after. He was just some no-named teenager. No aura. No tattoos. No ties to any family it would seem. He hadn't even had his wallet on him. Probably got it picked.

Like a cowboy from those old spaghetti westerns. Except… bad at everything.

Oh sure! He had them on the ropes, running and hiding from them in the first 3 hours after the kid had taken Judah Goldberg-Goldstein.

A few greased palms here, a few paid off lookouts, small-time gangbangers and cops there. It hadn't taken long.

Though the kid certainly packed a punch.

The Torturer subconsciously winced. He still had trouble walking.

A boy was tied to a stovepipe now in a basement.

It was a boiler room, the kind you would see in the movies: old-fashioned, a furnace was at its center. Switchboards, levers, pipes, and all kinds of blue-collar 'things' that had no bearing on the Corleone Family branch here in Vacuo proper. White-collar business was good. Trafficking was good. Debt collecting and street level drug peddling?

Profitable in the short term. Too messy for their reputation.

The Corleones' were feared! Respected! Considered heroes in some choice circles. They were efficient. They did they jobs well. They had no problem with a little dishonesty or moral ambiguity. La Cosa Nostra kind of made it difficult not to be.

Case in point: brass knuckles bashed and crashed into the kids torso. He already had cuts and scratches all over his body. His nerves flared and he felt like he was on fire. But he wouldn't give in. Heroes didn't give in. He… god… he was going to die or something worse… He didn't like to think about it but now finally caught, with no way out. He had time to think.

Think think.

Think think.

His mind turned inward. In his own little pocket of consciousness, he grasped the tendrils of darkness that would take him away, loosely. No. If he blacked out now. Well, he was definitely going to die. These guys (at least according to all the X-ray and Vav comics) were going to do a lot of bad things to him since he got in their way. That's how all the stories went… except in the comics the good guys usually won or the blundered their way to victory.

Tears fell. Not that he was aware of them.

The flame of pain continued to be stoked.

"Y'know… I gotta say you're pretty tough. I respect that." The Torturer could tell that Blondie's brain was going to mush. That thousand yard stare was definitely a sign of that. At least his Angel Eyes still shone with that little spark of life. He could still feel the pain. He could still hear them.

He had a chance of getting out of this and being dumped in the desert. A chance to escape and never come back.

He was young though.

Not that it would be a problem.

Just a shame that the young die young.

He pressed a lime-juice soaked rag against the kid's wounds. The kid hadn't even been gagged but he managed to keep his mouth shut. A real 'hero'. At least he wasn't rattling off name, rank, and serial number. Jeez, that was annoying. Still… the impassive face the kid wore the whole time, even as his body tensed and flexed with each blow and cruel trick against him.

It was disturbing.

Just a bit.

"But it's almost time, yeah? We've been here what… an hour? You got another twenty minutes to tell us where you put the Ju'." No response. The Torturer smiled. Restrained pleasure.

"You do that and you have a chance to walk away. Or else well…" he walked over to a small table full with cruel instruments. Most of it was for fear factor, like the rusted hacksaw. Or that lash curler. A bunch of random things used to psyche the victims out.

But his one well…

He held up a jar. It was made of darkened glass but inside of it something could be seen. It wriggled and waggled.

This one was just for fun…

"You know I like nature documentaries. I really do." That got the attention of his goons. The spark in Blondie's eyes got a little warmer. "So years ago, I got my hands on a rare Mistrali centipede. It's got a fancy Latin name but locally it was known as the 'Mind-killer'."

He stepped closer to the teen. Deliberate steps. Slow steps. This was a show. All for him.

"The story goes that the bite of this bug sends the victim into shock. Real crazy trip. Makes you delirious. Makes you hallucinate. Makes you unable to feel your face." He began unscrewing the top. His men were keen to get away. Though not so far as to not be able to watch. Inside the creature _hissed_ and _spat_. What the Grimm was this?

Blondie's eyes got a little less glassy.

"Well my precious Doris. That's her name ya see." His toothy smile practically glimmered in the overcast lighting of the boiler room. "I fed her tons of hallucinogenics, peyote, shrooms, and the bodies of other mind-killer centipedes."

He gingerly lifted the jar closer to the kid's stomach.

"Honestly, I'm feeling like you're not gonna tell me anything now but uh… at least this'll make a fun story for both of us." The boy started edging away, as well as he could.

His mouth gaped like he was screaming. His pupils dilated. He felt hot.

Those next 10 minutes would be agony.

To be continued…

* * *

 **AUTHOR NOTES**

Felt a little inspired. Trying to immerse myself more fully in the Yakuza lore. A Goro Majima approach in some respects. I hope this wasn't too boring and not too edgy. Thanks SuperEyePatchWolf.


	7. A Knight and A Dragon: Night Fishing

DISCLAIMER: RWBY is property of Roosterteeth Productions, LLC. I am in no way associated with its operations nor the production of RWBY. As I solemnly swear.

* * *

"Mister Kazuma, sir."

"Hmm?"

"I don't get it."

Fishing with Mister Kazuma was fun. He always had the best reactions whenever he caught anything. It was like watching a cannon of focus and joy go off.

It was especially funny when caught a boot. Or a suitcase.

"Don't get what." He really didn't know how to say this without looking like a fool but...

"Why don't girls seem to like me?" Kazuma Kiryu groaned. The Yakuza, The Tongs, The Triads, The Mob, The Mafia, The Milieu, and etc. had finally given him rest.

Left him alone to run an orphanage.

Yet people's problems still followed him and he, like any stalwart follower of Bushido, listened and helped.

If only people could see he just wanted to fish!

"Maybe it's your approach." This blonde boy had caught his eye, his pitiful face, his lack of spine, his earnest heart. He was well-meaning, he had seen this boy (Jaune was his name) help out private citizens. He'd run errands, fetch items, reunite people, and help whomever needed it. He also had the devil's luck when he fished. Something that he wouldn't stop telling Jaune every time he caught a fish. Seriously? Some fishing line on a stick with a spare fish hook nabbed him a rainbow trout. They weren't even native to this area of Vale!

"Girls love confidence, right? That's what my dad told me. I followed his advice, back straight, winning smile, be cool and have a good line." It wasn't wrong but… a single once-over could tell you that Jaune was not a charismatic stallion. Barely a colt or a foal, keeping with the metaphor. Anyone could tell he was awkward, kiddish, and… what was the word? Dorky (that's the word).

Kiryu chose to be silent. Memories of picking up girls, getting numbers, and punching faces flashed. No. It wouldn't work for Jaune.

"A-and I even got a line too it goes 'The name's Jaune Arc, Short, sweet, rolls off the tongue. The ladies love it." The impressionable youngster even did a little what was the word? Demonstration? Yeah. Putting on a face.

A face Kiryu had to consciously restrain himself from punching.

What the hell was his dad teaching him?

What the hell kind of father didn't tell their kid to NOT do that?

How to break it to the kid…?

"Kid. Listen." The kid leaned in attentively, his line going slack. "Your dad is right. It's you. You're wrong."

"Wha-what?"

He looked like a kicked puppy.

"A Man must be honest with themselves. He can't be fake. Anyone. Not just women. Can smell the fakeness of a liar." There that sounded wise. He could go back to-

"But who I Am. I..." he went quiet.

This was familiar. What new revelation shall he hear about tonight?

"I'm a liar, Mister Kazuma..."

Oh?

"I got into Beacon using fake transcripts." He didn't know why he was telling this humble (if scary looking) fisherman who ran an orphanage. Actually, thinking about it he did: Mister Kazuma was a good person who fed street cats, helped old ladies cross the street, ran an orphanage, and according to testimonies helped just about anyone who needed it.

A stand-up guy.

A guy, Jaune wanted to become.

"I... I hadn't even been trained in a combat academy. I got in with a stolen sword and shield and I almost died during Initiation. Yeah…" A phony.

Jaune was a phony. Who faked his way into one of the most prestigious Huntsmen Academies in the world who hadn't been discovered by anyone.

There were so many things wrong with that. Like...

"Did you even have your aura unlocked?" The boy had the decency to shake his head. Rosy cheeks. Good grief.

"You could have died." The tips of his ears got hot.

"I know."

"You did something stupidly, foolish." The boy leaned deeper into the rail.

"I know."

"Why?"

"Why did I do all of this?"

"Mmm."

Standing next to Mister Kazuma, it sounded childish. Like throwing a temper tantrum or running away from home just to...

It really sounded worse saying it in front of an adult (or anyone for that matter).

Pathetic.

"Because I wanted to change." He sighed. Shaking the sweat from his eyes. It wasn't hot that night. Not that Kazuma would say anything about it.

"Because I wanted to be hero. I wanted to be someone my father and his father and every other father in the Arc bloodline, could be proud of." Fathers, huh?

"I didn't want to be Jaune the Coward, Jaune the Baby Brother, Jaune the Only Son Who Could Be Nothing." A familiar story.

"My great-great grandfather fought in the Great War. He was a hero. His _son_ was a hero. And His son was a hero. And my dad is a hero." He was blubbering now. This was going to be a long and emotionally draining talk. Kazuma took the chance to light up.

"And I'm... a nobody. I almost died in Initiation! And if it weren't for this amazing girl I would have died!" Good. He stopped crying.

"I was made a leader of my own team. Me! The No-name, no-good nobody with a family name..." The charged atmosphere stilled.

"Headmaster Ozpin believes in me but I mean… he sees potential but I don't feel like I'm at the potential or even have the potential. No matter how hard I study, no matter how hard I practice. I'm still behind everyone else… It sucks…" Okay, that last bit had Jaune blushing, he totally sounded like a kid now.

The tall man did not say anything for a while.

"You're an idiot." The Boy solemnly nodded. "But you got guts and a good heart. That makes up for it."

His grin promptly fell. "A quarter maybe… or even a teaspoon. Hmmm…"

"Way to rain on my parade, Mister Kazuma." That didn't stop Kazuma from smiling.

It was comfortable. A lit cig,

"Mister Kazuma… thank you."

It was comfortable.

"OOH! I GOT A BITE!"

"Careful now. Looks like you got a big one. Drag it out. Lift the pole!"

Well… Jaune's luck extended to even his own survival.

Turtle and a Maneki Neko…

Able to survive for long and avoid troubles…

How long would Jaune's luck last?

To be continued…

X=X=X

Someone said I should introduce some Yakuza characters. I shall endeavor to add some. If only I played all the games… which I realize should disqualify me from writing anything Yakuza related but…

Game Maker's Toolkit, Writing on Games, and GamingBrit all make this point: Yakuza is able to juggle so many different moods that should conflict yet don't. One moment your singing karaoke and the next your slamming people's faces into your knee or the floor. It's melodramatic, it's inspiring, it's shocking, it's heartwrenching. It's also hilarious and hopeful. Grim and great. It certainly got my muse running. Anyways.

I don't except to do a good Mad Dog but…. We'll see


	8. Delilah Charger 1

DISCLAIMER: RWBY is property of Roosterteeth Productions, LLC. I am in no way associated with its operations nor the production of RWBY. As I solemnly swear.

* * *

Oh thank Gods I stayed home that day!

The one prevailing thought that echoed in Delilah Charger's head. She had heard about what happened, and she had seen some of the carnage.

The Fillystines were done for.

In the middle of the night, somebody had torn through their territory in Shephalah Street and had beaten their leader, Goliath, to a bloodied mess. Him, and a whole lot of other Fillystines who had either been sent to the doctors or were being cared for at home. Either way:

It was terrifying

The worst part? They said it was one guy who did it. One guy! He wasn't fast, he didn't even seem to have had any training, he just came in and beat the shit out of everyone. When he couldn't beat the snot out of them, he'd beat a retreat and come back with a vengeance. Something that he repeated again, and again, like he was that commando guy from that one movie. By the next day, windows had been smashed, anything that could be held in a single hand had been smashed against someone or thrown at someone, furniture was wrecked beyond fixing or use as firewood; knives, bats, clubs, and their actual weapons had been used and turned against them. Blood was everywhere, as was fragments of teeth and skin.

There wasn't even that much known about the guy! The defining feature of this mysterious gangbuster was that he was a tall human with blonde hair. He had come in masked and left without it with maybe a few cuts and bruises. His hoodie and jeans had been ripped up and he had promptly torn it off as soon as he was done cleaning up. Through the tears in his shirt, he had no ink or tattoos but He had entered the area, asking around for horse Faunus and the location of the Fillystines. Based on that and how beaten everyone was, it was a no brainer that this guy was a racist. Probably part of the Romulan Brotherhood. Crazy bastard who wanted to move up in ranks, or maybe just wanted to get his jollies in. That was the prevailing theory.

It was certainly no small blessing that she hadn't been there.

As she roamed the halls of Beacon, she mulled over her 'luck'. Beacon. Ah yes! 'To be at Beacon is a privilege', students applied – having paid a pretty penny – and dropped out whilst others stayed. They had some requirements either formal education provided by an institution or apprenticeship and sufficient experience fighting Grimm.

Yeah, she was lucky.

Her sister had been a dropout of Vale's Refuge Combat Academy and had got Delilah, as well as a few others, to be part of the Valean Adolescent Mentorship Program (VAMP). There were a lot facets of it, but she had been dragged into the 'Sentinel Program'. It was a pretty name for what was a politically motivated drafting of the dregs of society: train them to be Huntsman, give them all standardized equipment - and sic 'em loose on Grimm who were intruding on Valean settlements. Could be worse, she had supposed many months ago. Not a lot of 'good jobs' otherwise.

It was that or work the streets, make and deal in dope, work a shitty 9-5 service job or become a gangsters girlfriend.

Sorry sis, wish I could say I stayed away from all that.

Her reverie was brought to stop as she entered the class. She found herself a place to sit and let her eyes wander. A lot of the students were dressed in their "combat outfits" which always made her snort as she took in the impractical 'uniforms' that they wore.

Unlike her Team.

She was sitting in a first year, combat class. It was surprising that it had took her so long to get her heiney to observe this combat class. Especially with whom was in it! She searched for the telltale red hair of either the dark haired prodigy or the famous fighter, Pyrrha Nikos, leaning this way and that way to find head or hair of either of these stand out students. When names were called out.

"Would Koenig Takshaka and Jaune Arc prepare themselves, please."

To her disappointment it wasn't either of the two girls, instead it was a slim bald Faunus and a beanpole of a blonde.

After they equipped themselves in the locker room, they came out, the blonde had put on armor. He looked rather unassuming actually and didn't seem to be into it at the moment. His sword and shield held at the ready but loosely, not yet ready for the spar. But neither wholly unprepared. He almost seemed… sleepy.

The other guy was slimmer, dressed in a dark hooded, trench coat, and at his side was a holster for a pistol. His ensemble was alternating colors of dark grays and lighter yellow. Although the most discerning feature of his outfit was a belt with a curious buckle. He held onto it with his other hand. Could the guy not even afford a good belt? Had he not heard of safety pins?

"Syncing Scrolls." Goodwitch's voice rung out.

Soon portraits alongside bar graphs popped up on the view screen. Like all profile photos, they weren't the most flattering: all flat angles, 3 point lighting, and super serious faces.

You couldn't really get a bead on someone based on their photo. Maybe a few things like how snake boy was obviously a Faunus. How Blondie seemed a tad nervous.

In person, Blondie seemed reserved and resigned. Like those guys who had been macking on someone's girl and found out that her boyfriend was a convicted murderer or had a history of murdering somebody. He was just so done.

Snake boy on the other hand, had his eyes set on his opponent: Jaune Arc. Who seemed… distracted? Concerned about something?

Whatever it was, something about the tall blonde was getting to the guy. Huh.

"Hey, do you know anything about these two?" The girl next to her turned.

"Koenig's gonna win. It's not even going to be hard for the guy. Not trying to be mean to Jaune but, like, Jaune seriously sucks." The flat look Delilah gave was met by a tight smile from the other girl who turned briefly to give the blonde – Jaune! Her brain supplied – a look of pity.

"How bad we talking here?" The pained expression that stretched across the other girl's face said everything.

"Depressing bad. Like kitten orphanage on fire and the firefighters are spraying gasoline on the fire bad. But… he seems different now." At this the girl frowned, pulling back a loose strand of hair as she stared at Jaune as he stood in the arena. "You can see it in the way he's just staring at Koenig. Like he's there but… like not there."

The girl shook her head, leaning forward, closer to the arena as though she was staring at a magic eye puzzle.

"I dunno what I mean. There's just… something different about Jaune this time."

Huh. Well, maybe this was going to be interesting.

"Begin."

And they were off.

"Draw!" Koenig let loose a couple of rounds, his handgun now fully drawn, had been modified or made to have two barrels. Jaune side stepped, looking every bit irritated and brought his shield up, as he did he began closing the distance, blitzing forward to begin attacking.

Koenig was not having any of that.

He in turn leapt to the side, firing off a few shots at Jaune's feet a few of which managed to graze a foot. The shield-bearer stopped and began strafing parallel to him, taking a quick peek every now and then before bringing his shield up. Jaune's opponent let out a few more shots, doing little twirls and making his trench coat flow and spin. Bullets bounced off of the shield, the arena floor, or occasionally off his body.

Plingk, plingk! Plingk, plingk!

Click click!

Jaune charged forward.

Koenig ejected the magazine, before taking out a fresh magazine – with red chevrons – loading it into his pistol, and pulling back the slide with dramatic flourish!

The voice of Delilah's sister echoed in her head. So far, Jaune had put on a pretty boring performance. No attacking. Just dodging and blocking. He had to at least close the distance. What good was a Huntsman who couldn't score a hit?

Looking at his Aura, it was still high. Though Koenig's own was equally high if not more.

Clang!

She was snapped out of her thoughts as Jaune had made it into swiping distance and deflected Koenig's pistol out of his centerline using his shield. With his arm going one way, the Koenig's other went down to his belt as Jaune brought the sword forward in a text book, if clumsy, thrust. The fool hadn't gotten his footing right for a flying stab. Big sis, would have slapped her head in for that.

Koenig was like water: He dodged out of the way of the thrust, almost like a salsa dancer wiggling his hips, before he violently tugged with his left arm drawing out a metallic whip and snapping that down at his feet.

Whak-dshh!

The crack of a whip caught Jaune's attention who danced away before bringing his shield up again. His eyes high enough to scan Koenig's next move. His sword coming back up, ready to hack and slash. Now everyone could see more clearly the weapon that Koenig wielded in his offhand: it was a threaded sword, it's cruel-looking blades hung like razors on the metallic wire that connected each piece together. The sword had been whipped from its loose spine like form to a form unified sword.

They stood there for a while, just sizing each other up.

Good move, always better to know what you're getting into before you get wrecked because you were too much of a dumbass not spot the bulge of a gun in some thug's pants.

The intense stare that Jaune sent to Koenig, made the Faunus squint.

Things were getting tense.

And then he hissed.

Well that certainly took away some of the tension.

Jaune once more rushed in. This time, zigzagging towards Koenig. Not the way Delilah would have done it. But it seemed like the guy had no long range option.

Something that was absolutely stupid.

DeLi. Only an idiot fights with one gun. A smart idiot brings two. You got to be the genius who brings a knife and 2 guns just in case someone gets too close.

Thanks sis.

It was kind of funny, seeing Koenig almost irritably whipping the sword back in forth, alternating between its whip and sword mode. It reminded Delilah of a cat.

It got less funny when the whip's end was sent hurtling toward the boy and wrapped itself around the shin of the blondie before it was violently yanked the boy was sent flying high.

B-Bam! B-Bam! B-Bam!

Fire Dust ammo was a painful thing to be hit by. She heard the grunts of pain of the hapless knight as he found himself juggled in the air by the impact of the bullets.

The fire in the Jaune's eyes brought goose pimples to her arms.

With a cry, Jaune finally managed to right himself. His shield faced downwards, his body curled and bent. What was his next move? Coming down was going to hard, Aura or not. Maybe he had an ace up his sleeve? He continued to be peppered by Fire Dust bullets though the bulk of his shield deflected what rounds didn't hit him.

Koenig tsk'd. He charged forward with a swing of his own sword, it's razor-like blades clacking as it curled before it flew forward. The teeth of the sword shuddered and shook, all the while Jaune looked at it with grim acceptance. It ebbed and flowed forward hurtling it's two prongs looking ready to pierce through Jaune's armor.

By now Jaune was reaching the middle red. Whatever the heck Koenig put in his bullets had some kick.

Jaune pulled his shield arm back before….

"What does he think he's doing?!" Delilah idly noted the Schnee's shrill cry. Brothers beyond! Could she sound any whinier?

CLANG!

The shield had come back down, upside down she might add, and had parried the 2 cruel fang like prongs of the whipsword. Not that it seemed to matter to Koenig. The guy let his sword fly as he ran faster than his sword, his gun already drawn. Triggered squeezed. Bullets fired.

Plink! Plink!

Jaune landed with a resounding THOOM, as his shield slammed into the ground, a shockwave sent a ring of dirt and dust up into the air. Jaune was still hiding behind his shield.

He hadn't peeked his head out yet.

"Why isn't he doing anything?" The girl next to her tapped her and pointed.

Jaune wasn't looking very good. He was huffing. His breathing could be heard even from where she was. Winded from all those bullets to the chest and shield, Delilah supposed.

Looking up. The meter said it all: Jaune had no chance at winning now. Not unless he had some sort of ace up his sleeve.

Didn't he?

Koenig was still running-and-gunning. Keeping Jaune stuck in cover lest he lose the match from a coup de grace courtesy of Koenig's handgun.

"WHOA!" The running gunner juked as something flew towards him, he quickly blasted it away. "Was that your shoulder guard?"

Koenig strafed the shield, making sure he was beyond swinging distance from the stalwart knight and as soon as his vision caught Jaune he

THNK

"AH! Gods!" Something long, hard, and extremely painful slammed into his face, managing to bruise his eye. The snake-boy couldn't help but clutch his throbbing eye.

Did it get through his Aura?

Koenig opened his eyes to find a fist flying towards his face. He saw stars. Another fist dented his face. And another! Mercifully the combo stopped.

"GrrrrrraAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH."

The last thing he saw was a sword, swung like a baseball bat, crossguard hurtling towards him. His opponent wreathed in a white cloud of Aura and his eyes shone like a bonfire.

CNNK. BRRRRRRRRRRRRR.

The alarm signaled the end of the match, the blue safety field shutting off, and Jaune felt drained.

"A very good showing in the endgame, Mr. Arc. As a linear, melee fighter you were sound in your shield charge. Though your speed leaves you vulnerable to stalling tactics like suppressing fire as demonstrated by Mr. Takshaka. Though commendable use of the half-sword though please be careful. Even with Aura, bone can break. Overall, your Aura reserves were incredibly useful for taking sustained damage, 'tanking' should never be your primary method of turning the tide. I would advise that you work with your team in circumventing ranged fighters in the future."

Goodwitch's lecture was acknowledged by a thoughtless nodding of a thousand-yard staring Jaune Arc who stood there.

It was…. Kind of freaky. Delilah thought.

"Oh man! This is great!" Delilah turned to her 'new friend'

"Hmmm?"

"Yeah, Jaune almost never wins! Usually he gets off with a little luck. Especially in team battles." The girl at this pointed to a redhead seated far across the arena stands. Pyrrha Nikos. That made sense.

"But this time he won?"

"This time he won. It seems like he has this…. Intensity to him. I mean, whoof! Did you see him near the end there: all glowy and stuff? He looked downright murderous!" Delilah felt her heart chill.

How the Tartarus could she have forgotten?

There was one other thing, one last clue about the guy who flipped the Fillystines world upside down.

He had Aura…

Specifically, he had a white-colored aura.

Tall. Tough. Blonde. Human.

White Aura.

Could he be Jaune Arc?

There was a stillness in the air, a charging of the atmosphere, Delilah felt her skull pound a beat as her heart thumped.

She'd have to find out if he really was the guy who beat Goliath.

She had to find out the reason why he busted up Shephalah Street.

She needed to get to him. Either ice him or get him to help the Fillystines.

A whole gang getting their collective butts kicked in doesn't go unnoticed by their rivals.

Already, she had heard about the Romulan Brotherhood eying their territories. So were the Grove Street Cutters and the Vacuo Vatos Locos.

If this muscle-head didn't realize what kind of fresh hell he'd bring to the streets of Lower Vale, she would make him, understand.

And he WOULD understand.

Her eyes followed Jaune's back as he was led to the nurses office by his friends.

She would make sure of it.

* * *

AUTHORS NOTE

Yes I realize how crap this is. There's something lacking. Tension and drama for one. There's also a lack of atmosphere. But hell, how many times have you had a fanfiction go "It was a warm day in….."

This was an experiment in action scenes. Problem is: I can accept rule of cool, I just can't condone it. Something that pisses me off is when there are no rules. There has to be a stability to things. Something like Coco Adel's handgun/mini-gun doesn't get on my plums when I see it. But I, for whatever reason, cannot make a character with a similar 'hammerspace' weapon. I also can't help but want flexibility on the behalf of all Huntsman with both a ranged and melee option. Anyways, ignoring my neurotics, this is an introduction to an OC.

Huzzah….

I'm not thrilled but going in line with the gang warfare of the Yakuza/Like a Dragon franchise. I decided to abandon the idea of large scale crime families for something more grassroots.

You will most likely be seeing the Fillystines in the future alongside Delilah Charger. I bet you can't figure out what they're supposed to be.

Anyways. Don't expect a regular update schedule mostly because school is crushing my balls in a vice amongst other things.

I hope this at least piques someones interest and hopefully gets someone, far more skilled than I, into writing a Like a Dragon X-Over fic for whatever.

I need that goodness in me


	9. A Prelude to the Romulan Brotherhood

DISCLAIMER: RWBY is property of Roosterteeth Productions, LLC. I am in no way associated with its operations nor the production of RWBY. As I solemnly swear.

* * *

"Rain. Rain. Go away. Little Johnny wants to play. If you don't. I don't care. I can see your underwear!" The kids burst out in laughter, and the sole 'grown up' among them, gasped dramatically.

"Whaaaaaaaat? That's not how it _goes!_ " His wacky expression made them laugh harder, their high pitched giggles and chuckles climbed to a roar. They were good kids. Young kids. And much like him, were being raised in the projects of Lower Vale. Gods above! Didn't that leave a sour taste on his tongue. The Projects! Let's give the poor a home! Let's group them all together! Let's get Faunus, Vacuoan refugees, native-born Valeans and put them together! They'll get along!

They sure did…

Already, his next door neighbors were shouting to each other in Ezpannish, something about bills, money, the same old arguments that they had every month. Just as loud as well. After a few months, it just became another part of the background noise. It used to get on his nerves, used to take away his joy, used to make him angry. It was cliché to say but, he felt happy when he was with Myr and Vin. Their happiness was his own, and added to his own. Nothing could take that away.

At least in the now.

But tomorrow? They could and would get wasted. Blasted from the mortal coil. Corpse robbed. Memory mourned. Legacy lost.

In the quiet moments he had to spend – that he wanted to spend – with his little siblings, Perry Winkle was content. He was… 'merry', yeah. That was a good way of describing it. He felt 'merry'. He would worry about the bills, worry about the gangs, and worry about making the drop tomorrow.

At least for a little while.

There was kind knocking on his door.

Already, Vin – Vinca – was walking to the door.

Who could that be?

oOoOo

In a car pelted by rain, a younger woman held the steering wheel. Her grip was a vice. The polymer covering of the wheel squeaked ever so slightly from her wringing. Her heart was beating, painfully fast, as she stared into the window of the worn building: The Nobel Housing Project. She chewed on her chapped lips, she was thin, and her teeth were worn away, she looked like rigor mortis was ready to set in anytime in the next few minutes.

"Gah!" She turned to see a silhouette knocking on her door window. It moved its hand in a wheel like motion.

"Alex." He looked as he always did: a bit strung out, lanky – for certain – yet kind at the same time.

"Tasha." She looked like she had been hitting the crack pipe or maybe heroin. Ach. Knowing her she'd probably done both.

He held out a hand to her.

She placed a heavy thing wrapped in cloth into it.

He checked its weight. There was a heft. A gravitas. There would be no turning back.

He unwrapped it and looked through its cylinder. 6. That was enough for the job.

His boot felt hard against a long, metallic thing.

"Keep the car running." She nodded. There was the slightest quirk of her lips turning upwards.

"Be safe." His own lips twitched. Find the room. Open the door. Do the job. Run. Right.

He put the revolver into his pants.

His boots felt heavy as he ambled his way into the projects, people were milling about, the courtyard was empty. There were a few benches where some people sat and watched the rain with a blank concentration. There were more Vacuoans here than Faunus. They had their own barracks, their own places in the Faunus quarter. That was… maybe better than what they deserved. He didn't hate them – yet, a quiet voice whispered in his mind – but he could certainly voice his uh… disillusionment towards their detriment to society. Vacuoan refugees were some of the worst. Sandstorms, Grimmtides, criminals in control of the pockets of public office. Ach. It disgusted him.

Just as what he was going to do, disgusted him.

He didn't know the guy. This Vacuoan immigrant who was a drug dealer. At least that's what Sunny said. Sunny was nice enough. For, you know… a Homonationalist… But he was also honorable. If Alex did this…

 _"We'll take care of your brother." Sunny smiled. He had surprising good teeth._

His boots thumped against the concrete stairs. 4th floor…. 4th floor….

 _"But you got to do something for me. First." His smile didn't diminish even as his eyes seemed to crinkle. With what? Alex hadn't known then but now…_

"Amusement…" he muttered under his breath, as he passed by an elderly, black woman. 13…. 14…. 15…

Ah. He was here.

He let out a breath….

Moment of truth.

 _Knock knock knock_

"Coming!" The voice from inside was higher in pitch. Huh. Sunny had said, the guy was young. Whoever yelled sounded like a 12 year old boy...

...Or a little girl.

The door opened, and Alex stared into the eyes of a little 7 year old, Vacuoan girl with pale blue eyes. Oh Gods…

"Uhhh…"

"Hello, mister big eyes." What a _surprise_! A child who was innocently impolite.

He couldn't help but chuckle at that.

"Vinca!" Another voice. Older. More masculine. The voice couldn't help but let out a chuckle. "You don't say something like that to a stranger!"

The little girl – Vinca – smiled bashfully. Blushing, she muttered a "Sorry." Before she sheepishly ran back into the apartment.

"Ah, sorry about that. I…" There he was: he was shorter than Alex. Darker too. Not black, but not a light tan either. The guy had thick eyebrows (typical of Vacuoans). His face still had bits of baby fat.

Oh Gods…

He was a teenager…

Just a kid…

Alex's head throbbed. He could _hear_ and **_feel_** , his temples beat like a drum. He couldn't hear what his target – Perry Winkle! A guilty voice inside of him reminded – was saying. Alex's world was coming to blows with what Sunny told him and the weight in his pants, felt colder by the second.

"Um…. You okay, man?" Perry had a kind face. He was innocent, in a manner of speaking.

Did he really deserve any of this?

Alex gulped.

oOoOo

Tasha waited.

Her heart thumped.

The rain plinked and plunked against the car.

And waited.

Her heart thumped faster.

The rain plinked and plunked against the car

And waited.

Her heart thumped louder.

The rain plinked and plunked against the car

There hadn't been any gunshots yet.

 _PKKK! PKKK!_

"Oh thank the Gods!" Her prayers had been answered. They could get out! Be safe!

They'd make a call. Wait. And they would be alright. Sunny said so!

They had to be. Or else…

Screams echoed in the night, she could hear someone shout, and lights were turning on.

Ignore the screams, Tasha. Ignore the screams...

The rain continued to come down.

Where was he? Oh Brothers! Where is he? She leaned into her windshield, her wipers clearing the bleary images that stained the windshield. The creeping anxiety was coming back again. What if… what if _Alex_ , was the one who got shot?

Someone was rushing towards her, the person wrapped their arms around themselves. Their jacket was closed tight by their arms. She knew that jacket.

"Alex!" Of course he hadn't heard her, and he quickly made his way to the passenger door and got in.

His eyes were shrunken.

"Drive!" Tasha was happy to oblige.

The car sped off. It would be gone from anyone's sight in mere seconds.

Vinca and Myrtle Winkle would be taken in by their next door neighbors,

A call would be made to the police,

A homicide report would be on the desk of the Valean Police Precinct,

Just another night in Lower Vale.

Elsewhere, in Shephalah Street, the locals were talking. The Amistad Azules had been hit: dealers and producers had been taken out or at least assaulted, if the assassin failed. The word that was going around was that the Romulan Brotherhood had done it. Bottlenecking the flow of drugs throughout Lower Vale, messing with the meth trade, grabbing corners to start their own 'dealerships'. The Romulan were expanding and in a way, they were winning the war. Already they were moving into White Ash, taking territory from the Splitters/Loggers/whatever they were calling themselves nowadays.

The Brotherhood was within spitting distance of Shephalah.

It wouldn't be long until the Brotherhood made their move against the locals there: The Faunus community was stronger on the east end. Fillystine, Loggers/Splitters, and Monky Bizness had control over the Eastend. Respectively east-center, north-east, and southern east.

They'd be alright...

When it came down to it, Faunus would always fight against human. Regardless of animosity between the races and gangs.

That's just how it went: Blood for blood.

It would go down soon. There would definitely be a gang war by the end of the month.

The talk had spread like a wildfire, and people both in the underworld and even out of it, had some slight idea of what was going to happen.

Yet somehow, throughout all this talk and chatter, a young man. A huntsman-in-training, dawdled and walked through Shephalah Street without having picked up on any of this.

"Ummm… h-hey excuse me! Ummm excuse me! D-do you know where the Fight Club is?"

Yep… He had no idea…

* * *

AUTHORS NOTE

EDIT 08/07/2018: Needed to fix something and a few things.

Admittedly, some of this stuff is just fluff and Me, trying to get a more cohesive grip on a criminal setting. I was experimenting earlier with a brief short wherein Jaune reflects on the many miscellaneous sidejobs he does. Again. This is worldbuilding. Trying to get a grip as to what I want: something ambitious or something humble. As you probably already figured out, this is supposed to be a Yakuza cross over and I feel that I'm pretty badly failing in a lot of ways to capturing that feel and grit of the series. In hindsight, I'm considering Sleeping Dogs and Mafia II as well as GTA San Andreas as influences towards what I want to get out into some semblance of a framework for a story to exist.

I'm thinking of, obviously, making it small scale. Focusing more on street gangs, rather than crime syndicates like the yakuza or mafia. Although arguably one could say that the Aryan Brotherhood expy, the Romulan Brotherhood, is technically large scale. I'd agree with you. Anyways, we have more to the setting of Lower Vale: La Amistad Azules (atrocious and gratuitous Spanish, on my part), the Romulan Brotherhood (with a peek at some characters), and of course more references to Fillystine (which in turn is a biblical reference). I initially shoved in the moniker of Lion of Judah, since it's an already existing real-world title/nickname that sounds similar to Dragon of Dojima. I'm still trying to create a set of characters for a vaguely Jewish-migrant esque faction for the fic. Something something, Shimshom. Something, something, Goldsteins and Goldbergs. Which should totally go over well and not come off as extremely poor in taste… Won't that be fun?

The updates will be erratic and random. So don't come checking here every day. I can assure you, I will not be having that spree of updates, as was the case when this fic started. It will be irregular. Hopefully in the time being, I can get a fight scene working. Further experimentation will be conducted. In those instances of fight scenes, it most likely will revolve around non-sequitur encounters with factions.

I have several "Fighting Revelations" concepts written out. So perhaps those might be uploaded in the near future. I admittedly need to flesh them out more.

Anyways, I've prattled on, and potentially teased you long enough. I hope you found this thrilling and engaging. If not, best of luck.

Best wishes,

Sean Greene


	10. Enter Delilah Charger 2

DISCLAIMER: RWBY is property of Roosterteeth Productions, LLC. I am in no way associated with its operations nor the production of RWBY. As I solemnly swear.

* * *

Stakeouts…

Stake.

Outs.

Waiting and watching for something and someone exciting.

Kind of like her love life.

Ugh.

Think positive 'Lila. Focus on the dork.

Speaking of the 'dork'…

"Oh I'm uh… I'm sorry. I'm a trainee and uh.. Yeah"

"Well… just don't do it again. All's forgiven."

"Heh… eh- Thank you."

Here she was working at a restaurant. Tapas style. So, you got your main plate and the other plates would have the food on them.

Simple. Easy. Cheap.

Something that Jaune was still trying to figure out.

His uh… energy from earlier was gone. So was the intensity. It was really interesting to see Huntsmen out of their environment. Out of their depth. Then again…

"C'mon Jaune! The customer keeps one plate. You take the others. Also don't ask if they want 'another beer'."

Jaune seemed like he was constantly out of his depth.

The 'Mater-Dee' sounded like a dad who was fed up with his son's stupidity and screw ups. Or his daughter's…

Think positive.

Whatever. She was damn sure that Jaune Arc was not the guy she was looking for.

She threw her cigarette on the ground and stamped the embers.

The search for the Shephalah Street Stomper was still on-goin-

Huh?

She bumped into someone

"What do you think you're doing here, 'hor-she'?" She looked up. A trio of humans.

Tan. Dark. Pale. An ensemble all of whom had _that presence_. The same kind that she had.

Street kids.

Gangbangers.

"Minding my own damn business."

Be 'polite'. Guys like them? They want to be the boss. The king. Obsessed with their 'big dick energy' as her friend, Cindy, would put it. Which… was accurate. Guys like them wanted to be on top. If they were insecure like some guys were, they were liable to start hitting her. She could take it of course. Huntress and all but-

Then she had an idea.

Jaune was going to be leaving for Beacon soon so…

"What's it to ya?"

The black guy shot an amused look to the tan guy – a Mistrali, she noted – who got up into her face. Whiteboy seemed surprise.

"Hey, you better start respectin' us or else I'm gonna make that pretty face of yours _real_ ugly." Really?

That's the best he could do?

She couldn't help but snort and felt a hand cup her chin.

Jeez, he was fast.

C'mon, Jaune. Where are you?

"Wha? What something funny?" Well yeah, your height for one! Mr. Mistrali was short in more than just temper.

"Yeah. A bunch of limp-dick quickshots thinking they can get fresh with a Faunus girl like me."

The hand around her chin, tightened. Thankfully her Aura wasn't showing up yet.

"Ha. Faunus girls like you are crazy about human dick. Faunus cock can't compare." The Mistralian man's comment got a snicker from his friends.

"Not this girl." His eyes shot open and his mouth gaped wide.

He keeled over in pain as she took her foot back and began back-pedaling towards the restaurant. Dimly, she made out the sputters of "Hey!" and "Dude, you okay?".

Jackholes.

A voice in her head pointed out the irony, until Delilah stopped.

Some dickhead had gripped her tail.

Head and tail.

"GaaaH!" It was hard to bite back her instincts _NOT_ to yell. Gang life had taught her to be tough and never be anyone's bitch. Her plan hinged on her fighting Pavlovian responses.

Easier said than done.

"AH HELP! HELP! GLUK!" A foot snapped against her spine and a pull on her tail brought a very real squawk of pain from her mouth. She was thrown on the ground, and the kicking and stomping began.

Her Aura wasn't holding. Good.

The pain was settling in deeper into body. Bad.

Jaune still hadn't heard her cries and screams. Very bad…

Well actually she could let her Aura go to work if she wanted to, and she could _easily_ kick anyone's ass even if she was bruising and hurting.

Gawd, did it have to hurt so much?

"Help. Help!. HELP!"

"H-HEY! GET OUT OF HERE!" There he was!

The hero of the hour!

Now if only her face didn't hurt so much.

Dimly she could feel the pitter-patter of footsteps rushing towards her. Her ribs seemed to radiate pain. Were they broken?

"J-just hold on. I-I'll help you…. Somehow…"

She would have rolled her eyes if her eye hadn't grown swollen.

The night was young… and Delilah dearly hoped to whatever God was listening, that it would prove fruitful in her search for the Shephalah Street Stompher

oOoOo

THE NEXT DAY

It was quiet in the way that only the Beacon Cafeteria could be: filled with raucous energy but lacking in that 'oomph' that punctuated night clubs and parties. Something that could do nothing for one Delilah Charger. Resident Faunus and former inner city gangbanger of Beacon Academy.

3 pictures.

3 pictures had been snuck into her locker.

Photos of humans who were bleeding, bruised, and obviously beaten.

A familiar Mistralian with his buddies, Whiteboy and the black guy.

Her injuries from last night didn't ache as much anymore but gods! She hadn't been beaten that hard since her gangbanging days.

Though that did beg the question, well actually, several questions!

#1: Who beat those guys up?

#2: Who snuck those photos into her locker?

She sat down at a table and began mulling over her ham sandwich, when the answer hit her.

A shock of pale blonde hair was walking towards her. She knew that hair.

She knew that effeminate face!

"Jaune…"

It made sense: He _was_ one of the onlookers there that night, he _was_ a huntsman-in-training so he was probably tough enough to take them on, he _was_ also able to access Beacon and get someone to plant the photos in her locker.

It also helped that the moment he made eye contact with her, he flinched just a bit.

And then he made his way to her table, waving his friends off as he sat down next to her.

"Hey! A-are you okay?" His smile was… what was the word? 'Demure'? Whatever it was, it felt like he was a little lamb and she a wolf. Her mind flashed back to the night spent watching him work.

"Yeah, yeah… I'm fine… thank you. By the way." His 'bemused' expression made her want to punch him in the face. He seemed to get it after a few seconds.

"Oh uh… yeah… no problem…" He paused, trying to find the words "Glad to have helped. Heh." He flashed his pearly whites. Bashful. Shy. A lamb. A tall one but a lamb for sure.

Cute. If irritating after a while.

"Oh, and thank you for beating those guys up." He flashed a smile.

"Your welcome." His smile was honest and heartfelt. It was also hilarious to see it drop faster than a dead beat dad dropped his kid with the baby mama.

"So you really did do that." Her voice fluttered higher. Amused. A bit smug. Teasing. Jaune could definitely feel that last one bleeding through her face and smile.

"Darn it…" He didn't swear. How cute. His tight grimace and tightened fists made the image of someone caught red-handed funnier.

"So… after you treated me and took me back to Beacon." His reaction grew a bit tighter. She smiled. Right on the money "You decided to go… all Bill Hickok on them and just…"

There was an uncomfortable silence.

Until he broke it.

"Yeah." He didn't seem smug. But the way he sipped at his… cola.

He seemed pleased with himself.

"You-" His finger shushed her and his eyes shifted around the room and when he was certain no one was listening in.

 _He_ leaned in and hissed "Yesss. So _please_ don't tell anyone."

So it was official: Jaune was a vigilante. Defending her… chastity… with a chivalrous virtue and documented – and incredibly gratuitous – violence.

In each photo had been a bloodied item: a baseball bat, a metal pipe, and a traffic pylon, of all things.

3 bloodied, beaten, and bruised dickheads who had the misfortune of facing off against a very vindictive Huntsman-in-training.

Who knew he had it in him?

She hummed in thought. He sipped coolly with a sudden stiffness to his movements and yet…

There was a comfortable silence between them. The humdrum atmosphere of the cafeteria was a comfort in-and-of-itself: no racists (sort of), no fistfights, no sneaking and spying on potential gangbusters who may or may not have a bone to pick with some Faunus gangbangers.

Oh yeah…

The Shephalah Street Stomper was crafty. Resourceful. Willing to use anything to get the job done. Could endure long drawn-out fights. Could beat an Aura-enhanced gangbanger. A tall, blonde human.

Jaune Arc had proven himself a relatively capable fighter, at least against a fellow huntsman – which according to popular opinion was a huge surprise– he also had a sort of mean-streak, at least against racism or maybe just people who picked on the weak – and boy did that make her gag. _Her_. _Weak_? Pah! That was funny – and of course were the physical attributes of the blonde, tall Jaune Arc matching that of the Shephalah Street Stomper.

Well… better now than later…

"Hahhhhhh… I don't really know how to say this…" She trailed off and stared into Jaune's face. He seemed so innocent with his big baby blues and befuddled expression.

"Yes,,,?" She leaned in a bit closer and she could feel him physically leaning back just a bit. Good. Keep him on the defensive.

"I want to know…" She was whispering, her voice huskier, her eyes lidded. He was _definitely_ feeling something other than nervousness all of sudden.

He gulped.

"I want to know why you were there at Shephalah Street." His eyes widened. "I want to know why you took down the Fillystines that night."

"I want to know why you hurt my friends." His eyes narrowed. "Could you be a _dear_ , and tell me, _Jaune_?"

His expression sharpened, his brow furrowed, he sat back-straight, and glaring into her own baleful eyes.

His mouth had shifted into a hateful frown and unknowingly, so had hers.

They stared into each others eyes, waiting for the other to give up first.

The atmosphere didn't feel so comforting anymore

* * *

Originally, these were two different snippets: 1 about her encounter at the restaurant where Jaune worked. The other focusing on the aftermath. I'm probably going to do some work on the interactions between Jaune and Delilah if only to get used to creating meaningful dialogue and drama. I think I left a few hints as to Delilah's backstory, and there's probably going to be some dumb plot twist or something about her family or… something.

Anyway, again, there is no defining storyline yet so far, but I feel like I'm getting somewhere with a storyline. I've been working on a "That's Rad! Cat Style!" Snippet in the mean time. I hope to get it out soon as I can but fight scenes are a strange and uncompelling beast.

UNtil next time

BYebye


	11. Bodkin Blues, A Sterling Story

Chiron.

Was my teacher.

He was a brave man. Who was hated.

Hunted.

And killed, because of things outside of his own control…

He wasn't a good guy… he wasn't someone you'd respect or, otherwise elevate to a higher class of personhood. But he was noble in his own way. His prowess was matched by many, but… not many could live as long as he did.

And not many did…

I…

I wish I could've been stronger… Wish I…

I wish I had been faster on the draw… I should've brought a bigger gun or… should have hired guards…

I should've doubled back more and left more false trails… I should've been better…

I…

I'm going to do something Chiron.

I'm going to do something big… and you might not like it, but it's only way I'm going to temper my anger…

It's the only way I know how to give it up or at least…. Do something with it besides holding it.

I'm going to shake things up and when the dust settles… maybe I'll see you again.

I'm…

I'm not doing this for you… you'd probably tell me to let it go for my own safety…

But I gotta do it. I know it's selfish. I know it's stupid.

And I know…

That you're dead and nothing's gonna fuckin' change that…

But you were someone who gave a shit… and got little for it

So, this is it, Chiron.

My farewell gift to you.

So long, Chiron…

They won't know what hit them.

Because they'll never see it coming.

* * *

Like A Lion should be understood as a creative outlet for myself, for me to formulate ideas and plotlines and try to create something from them. Which sucks because I'm basically playing around with different ideas, trying to logically set up ideas, plotlines, arcs, and well, a cohesive story that would probably lead to a shirtless fistfight.

I've finally gotten my hands on Yakuza 0 and have been playing that on and off again, so I have better grasp on some intricacies of a Like a Dragon story and the plot beats that occur. And I have drafted some ideas of what I envision an actual Like a Lion storyline would follow.

Wrote up a 'plot beat' draft, going through what would happen over the course of the storyline. As well as shaping characters and trying to add context and background to them when otherwise, I had nothing. It's not the greatest way to do it, trying to "Sit-down-and-plan" rather than "Pants-it" so we'll see how that goes. 

I'm trying to conjure up a short short (an actual arc) that would be befitting of an actual story (albeit an amateurish one) but it's slow going even after several years of which I have been on and off on working on it. Which sucks. But, that's on me and I apologize if this doesn't feel engaging or interesting to you.


	12. Broadhead Blues, A Sterling Story

Huff. Huff. Huff.

A young man was running.

Huff. Huff. Huff.

His heart beat, his breath blew, his feet stomped.

Huff. Huff. Huff.

Again.

Huff. Huff. Huff.

And again.

Well-made, Derby's got dirtied with Vacuoan dust. His white, pristine, Oxford shirt stained with sweat, still tucked into his waist as his suit jacket flapped behind him. His pupils dilated, and his heart rate elevated, as he sprinted through the Vacuoan city. Across plazas and crowded spaces, he ran, leaving behind a trail of grumbling people who would be pushed aside by squads of finely dressed men.

For 5 days, it had been like this. A dirty city, under a secret lockdown, by scummy guys dressed in nice suits. It had been 6 days since he had done the deed. A single day in between the deed, had been spent getting him a ride out of the city and out of Vacuo proper. A planned route that was rudely interrupted by an investigation by 'concerned parties' who had found out who did the deed.

Since then, they'd been hunting him. Snooping around and keeping eyes open, desperate to take him in–or take him out and with his aura at its current level. He'd have a challenge trying to take on too many guys, though he'd probably win.

At a cost.

In the present, the young man sighed, and began jogging, pushing through the crowd. The time frame for escape was getting tighter and tighter. As the tension and attention on him began ramping up, simultaneously. The hairs on his neck began to tense up as he felt an invisible net close around him.

Damn. Thought I lost them.

Whenever he'd make some headway, they would catch up.

Whenever they caught up, he'd always feel the atmosphere change as the presence of those men made themselves known. For an 'underground family', they sure made themselves visible above ground.

Not that it mattered, the young man's hunters were more of a formality, the young man bet he had eyes on him from every angle. Already, he spotted old grandmas and grandpas leaning on their balconies watching their streets and communities with a keen eye.

A fixture of Vacuoan culture who could operate in plainsight with little oversight or scrutiny. He'd bet his disgustingly smelly and sweaty shirt that at least one of them had ties with the Family. After all, he'd used them to do that exact thing. At least, before all of this.

"STERLING!", a gruff voice roared the young man's name in the plaza of the city.

The young man – Sterling Archer – stopped running. His breathing was heavy, and he was tired of running. But he was so close! Soon, he'd be out of here.

"Ah… Adolf. You should look into jazz-cersize, my friend! Cardio is good for ze heart and endurance!" But first, he had to deal with a walking, talking tub of lard.

"Sterling… you fuckin' idiot." The taller fat man in front of him, huffed and puffed deeply. "We were gonna make peace! Gonna make good!" The fat man wiped his own sweat-soaking forehead with a handkerchief.

"No more bad blood between us and the fucking Romans!" Adolf barked. His voice was hoarse and he was breathing harder than Sterling. Who couldn't help but notice the man's bulbous tummy which jiggled ever so slightly every time he raised his voice. "And you cocked it all up!"

From what Sterling could remember, Adolf had always been a big guy, though how much was fat and how much was muscle was up for debate. He was also a talker, though never like this. He was more of a bully or a 'bragger'. Hmmm.

Something was up… no, someone was coming!

Around them, suited men were pushing through the crowd, hoping to surround Sterling. He wouldn't be able to get away in time, he'd have to fight. Question was, did he have time to deal with them? Shooting a quick glance at a nearby clock, he grimaced. Have to make this quick.

As the crowd around them began to disperse, 5 goons had Sterling surrounded. 5 goods who looked pretty pumped up and energetic, keen on beating 5 shades of shit out of Sterling. It wasn't a fair fight. He was surrounded from all sides, and he was on the clock. Subconsciously, his hand dipped close to his suit pocket.

This sucked.

But he'd at least give them hell for slowing him down.

Like lightning, Sterling dashed to his left, whipping a powerful left straight into the nose of a guy wearing glasses. Feeling the man's nose bend ever so slightly under his knuckles, Sterling shifted his hips before bringing a chopping right across the glasses-wearing thug, and rotating on the spot. Squaring his guard: chin tucked low, back bent forward at the weight, his left fist guarding his chin and his right-hand hovering away from him ready to intercept and block like a shield.

Just in time as a goon, ran forward and threw a wild haymaker. It didn't land. Sterling deflecting it with a twisting wrist before grabbed the hand, and spinning around. Knocking the goon off balance and throwing him into the guy wearing the glasses, sending them both tumbling to ground.

"GAh!"

Sterling felt someone's knee stab into his back and into his spine, his back bended as he tried to absorb more of the force. It was followed by someone grabbing his shoulders before spinning him around to stare face-to-face at the guy who kneed him. The guy grinned ferociously which only highlighted his lopsided nose. The guy was an experienced scrapper but it was just a bit too lopsided towards one side.

Sterling could fix that.

Sterling's skull hurtled into the guy's nose, before his hands broke the guy's grip on his shoulders and got him into a clinch. Sterling then leapt into the air, dragging the guy's head along with him before coming back down. Slamming the guy's head straight into his knee.

CRRK!

That guy was down for the count.

Hmmm. Only 1 guy was actually downed. That reduced to fight to what? 4 soldiers plus Adolf? Wait, where was that big lug?

2 hands gripped his head.

"HA!"

Oh shi-

"YOU SHOULD'VE." Adolf began lifting him up. "JUST COME IN!"

Before he squeezed, and for a brief second, Sterling was reminded how you couldn't crush an egg by pressing against its top and bottom. But what if it could? What if his head exploded? Oh God.

"QUIETLY!" Sterling couldn't help crying out in pain.

"NOW, TAKE YOUR LUMPS!"

The intense pressure finally ended and Adolph finally let go of the Sterling, but the young man still felt his head throb and pulse. Thank God! I thought I was gonna die. Sterling fell onto the ground but caught himself stopping his forehead from cracking against the pavement. His right hand having broke his fall, while his other hand sunk into his pocket and took something out, before he pressed a button.

SNKT!

"Take this!" Another one of Adolph's soldiers began running towards him before pivoting as a foot went flying toward him. It was a textbook soccer kick. And somewhere in Sterling's brain, a voice mused to itself that this was going to hurt. "ARGH!"

The foot was immediately stopped as whatever Sterling drew out, stabbed into the leather of the kicker's shoe and into the man's foot. Sterling blinked as he consciously stared at what was in his hand.

"Huh. Forgot about that." A mental alarm rung and old instincts kicked in, as Sterling rolled out of the way, withdrawing the switch blade from the man's foot at the same time. That was another down but he was still left with Adolph and the 3 others. That guy with the glasses had since gotten up, along with the other thug. In the matter of 20 seconds, he had only taken out 2 guys.

He was getting sloppy… either that or he was letting old loyalties get to him. Hmmm.

He checked the nearby clock, again and his eyes widened. He was going to have to ramp things up. The 3 other goons were rushing at him now as Adolph taunted him. But Sterling couldn't hear them over the serene pounding of his heart, it was in the heat of moments like this that he felt at home. Moments where his training kicked in.

Sterling tore towards the remaining thugs, before smashing his blade straight through one of the thug's chin. Pulling it out, he saw how the remaining goons around him recoiled, all except Adolph. That meant a lot of things. A lot of things good and with a tight schedule, he could deal with them quickly and with extreme prejudice. Though escalation would inevitably be terrible for his overall lifespan, it would be good for the battle at hand.

An eye for an eye for people after the price on his head.

He could feel the presence of other people coming around, by now whatever civilians remained maintained a wide berth around him and Adolph and his squad. Anyone who was coming was either the police or more backup for gangsters. His face blanked and he found himself flowing into action.

He zigzagged forward, as he dodged punches and kicks, before thrusting out with his knife, repeatedly stabbing into biceps and thighs, and slicing through meat wherever he could. Screams of pain felt like whispers to him but they brought a small nibble of satisfaction. It was easy, just losing himself to the song and dance of battle.

The exhilaration and heat he felt made the crappy situation feel a little less crappy. Due, in no small part, to the goons who fell easily, their bodies were bloody, and their wounds were bleeding out.

Which was good but Adolph, the chunky bastion of a veteran, stood resolute. Great.

The gangster shook his head as he stared at his quarry. "What a fuckin' mess. Damn psycho, cuttin' up my guys…"

Adolph's grumbling fell into silence as he pulled out his own blade from a sheath. A long and fixed, straight blade with an antique hilt. It reminded Sterling of an old hunting knife.

"Got nothin' to say?" Sterling's stoic face stared back.

"Tch. Never liked you anyway, you bastard…"

They were silent for a few moments before they clashed.

"Really think about what you're doing, Sterling." The baleful eyes tried to laser a hole straight through Sterling's skull. As they danced to death, with Sterling thrusting and dodging, before step lunging into his target. "You think Nikolas is gonna vouch for you, now?! You're signing your Death. Warrant!"

Keep him yelling.

"Don't have a choice." Sterling narrowly avoided a thrust to his face. "There's no home here." Sterling ramped up his speed, as he side-stepped and circled around Adolph. Stabbing and trying to break through the padded suit, Adolph was wearing. Or was he just tanking hits with his fat?

Who knows.

Adolph certainly wouldn't any time soon.

That's when Sterling heard the shouting of thugs and the soft pounding of shoes, a rich sound that got Adolph's fat mouth curling into a smirk.

"HAH!" Adolph was shouting now, his victorious grin wide. He was getting more confident with his attacks, pressing forward and nailing more and more of his hits. He had stalled for time long enough for men to get here. He finished a combo of slashes with an overhand hammer strike that aimed to pierce Sterling's skull.

"TIMES UP!"

And then there was only the almost silent gagging from someone's throat.

Adolph's fat mouth gaped wide, failing to close, his hands frozen in the air unsure of what to do. As Sterling stood beneath him, his arm fully extended and his hand now empty. Sterling's knife had in a split second been catapulted through the air. Before it found the perfect spot to land: in the back of Adolph's throat. It was a completely absurd move, one that Sterling would bet had a 1 in a million chance of working. One that required careful timing and sense of rhythm to execute successfully.

One that had drawn the eyes of the gangsters around him, and scared them shitless.

As Adolph fell to the ground, trying to clutch at his throat, Sterling kept a vigilant eye on those around him. They didn't move in, just gawked and stared in shock. They didn't even stop him from taking Adolf's knife and sheath nor did they stop him when he began walking away. When he was certain no one was following him, he dashed away to get to where he needed to be:

The Sand Pier.

Where his one-way ticket out of Vacuo awaited him.

There was no turning back now.

Au revoir, Vacuo.

Hello, Vale.


	13. Warhorse Gym 1

Defeat.

A word Jaune Arc was very well acquainted with.

Defeat.

A word that might as well be synonymous with Jaune Arc.

The first few weeks at Beacon were a pain: the assignments were standard "school stuff" with essays, papers, the very rare presentation or group work assignment; but the stuff he needed to put inside each assignment was so...

Different.

It was funny how at times, writing a paper on historical events, battles, incursions, and landmark moments was so familiar. But that familiarity ended with the inclusion of 'huntsmen things' like battle tactics, grand strategy, logistics, combat and force multipliers, and things that... well sounded "cool" to a someone like him. But it was a tough nut to crack and to fully understand, even with whatever mysterious quality he had that Jaune was sure had led Ozpin deciding Jaune was leader material.

He had to really think hard about the terrain, weather, intel reports and projections by scouts and analysts, as well as take into account the needs and demands of both huntsmen, soldiers, and civilians alike as if they were caught crossfire and aftermath of both war and Grimm.

Some of the things were simple to understand: ensure you have water and food during a siege or whilst surviving in the wilds, erect entrenchments and battlements to place defenders and deter non-Grimm threats or stall Grimm, use leap frog maneuvers to advance, use covering and suppressing fire, etcetera.

Etcetera. Ugh.

That stuff was hard enough as is but coupled with the demands of his least favorite class.

"Cardin, that's enough.." Ms. Goodwitch's voice cut in before Cardin could deliver the finishing blow.

He couldn't catch up...

...and that hurt.

Every face that he saw around Beacon belonged to huntsmen and huntresses who had earned their place. Who had honed their bodies and their minds to become awesome, Grimm-killing machines.

They had made their own weapons; and if they didn't make them, they ordered them and practiced with them. They trained for hours, every week to master them and make their weapons a part of them, over the course of years.

Yet here he was.

Standing amongst humanity's new generation of bastions and guardians against a formidable enemy.

Unqualified, untrained, and technically uncertified.

How long could he keep this up?

He didn't cry. He didn't let the looks of disappointment on his friend's faces get to them. He didn't let the jeers and insults from Cardin – or anyone for that matter – get to him

He didn't and he wouldn't.

How long could he keep this up?

Or at least he'd pretend to not to.

But it was all taking its toll own him, and already he felt himself retreat into bad habits: shunting himself away in his own little world. With comic books and video games, desperate for an escape from his own weakness. Or in his more private moments, munching on something late at night to cool down from the demands of his new life.

The question was becoming louder: How long could he keep this up

The answer was obvious.

Which was why he was here in Lower Vale, trying to navigate its unfamiliar and grungy streets that filled Jaune with unease. Here he was trying to find the person his cousin Sterling had paid to train him: the owner of the Courser Gym who had once been a huntress, at least that's what Sterling said.

Which helpfully did NOT include the physical address of the location nor the ACTUAL name of the former huntress in question.

He had tried to find the gym's location using his Scroll's map application and even tried to search for it on the CCT and got nothing: there wasn't a single hit for the "Courser gym". All he got was a bunch of trivial information about breeds of war horses. Great.

Just great.

Jaune rechecked the message he had gotten from Sterling for what felt like the hundredth time, reading it over:

"Moi cousin. I have taken the libertie of hiring a trainer for you. Former huntress who runs the Courser Gym in Lower Vale, on Shephalah Street. Do not worry about paying her, I've already paid her in full for 1 semester though it is up to you if you want to continue training with her. Don't forget to try the sweet tea. Sterling."

The sigh he released was one that caught the attention of nearby denizens of Shephalah Street, who he ignored as continued his trek, trying in vain to find a storefront or a neon sign indicating the gym.

No luck.

No matter where he walked or looked, there wasn't a single clue that the Courser Gym even existed. It was a goose chase at his point and he had one last unappetizing option. If he couldn't find it by himself, he'd just have to rely on the denizens of Shephalah Street.

He stared at a nearby concrete staircase where a trio of Faunus were chilling, wearing clothes that were distinctly non-Huntsman in design and color. Their demeanor was cool and they looked anything but on edge. But there was something…

Off about them, all 3 of them in fact, and Jaune couldn't help but look over the Faunus with a critical eye, and when he realized what it was that got to him, he couldn't stop himself from looking around.

The shaded neighborhood of Shephalah Street seemed to grow darker to him and he began to gingerly consider every Faunus around him. He began to identify the shades of dark orange and light grays that hung around the street: people wearing bandanas, kerchiefs, hats, and other accessories that were usually tinted some shade of dark orange and highlighted by a gray, that varied in value and hue.

It was like an inverted world of Huntsmen.

He noted the graffiti, and the ever-occasional person shooting the breeze on their balcony as they looked over the street. Some of whom had a keen eye on Jaune, and when he stared right back, they leisurely turned to look elsewhere. People with tattoos, people with symbols, buildings with insignias and signatures were all signs that repeated themselves across Shephalah Street.

A world that Jaune was only vaguely familiar with thanks to Sterling.

It all began to make sense: he rarely if ever saw any humans prowling around here. It was a Faunus exclusive neighborhood and the writing to whom this neighborhood belonged to was literally on the wall: Fillystines. Their 'logo', a horsehead with it's mane becoming the horizontal lines of the letter F. The artistry of street gangs and gang bangers marking boundary line between his world and their world.

A world where he was supposed to train in.

A world that Jaune mentally vowed to sterling talk about with Sterling, the next time he saw him.

To borrow a phrase: Putain de merde.

"Sweet tea! Sweet tea for sale!" Jaune blinked.

Suddenly, Sterling's message came back to him like a lock in a sock beaning someone square in the eye.

No way… Did Sterling really mean…?

The moment he turned to look, Jaune's jaw dropped and he felt like an absolute moron.

The sign for the storefront was under renovation but there was a crude sign written on a board reading: Warhorse Gym

Fucking Sterling mixing his English with Old Valean.

It wasn't "courser", it was "war horse"!

Jaune immediately rushed toward the little 'sweet tea stand' that was run by a pubescent young boy and put on his most approachable smile. Which was a bit too manic and when Jaune greeted the kid…

"Hey! Excuse me!"

The moment the boy turned to face Jaune, his eyes squinted and his mouth grimaced.

Jeez, Jaune thought, what did I do?

"You're excused." Hah. Jaune's polite smile tightened. Very funny.

"This is the Courser- I mean, Warhorse Gym, right?" The kid's eyes seemed to squint even more. "I mean, I- I didn't see it before, y'know with the sign being down there rather than up there"

The kid backed up just a bit at Jaune's pointing.

"-but, this is the place, right? The Warhorse gym? Run by an ex-huntress?" Jaune's smile showed a bit too much teeth.

"Are you some kind of a cop?"

Jaune blinked. What?

"If you're a cop, you have to say you're a cop. Even if you're undercover. That's the rules." Uhh…

"Okay. One. I am NOT a cop." That earned Jaune a skeptical stare. "Two. I'm pretty sure that cops can still lie to you even if-"

"So, you ARE a cop!" The kid punctuated his statement by pointing at him, drawing attention to the lone human that stood in the middle of Shephalah Street. Much to the humiliation and fear of said human.

"Nononono, no. I am NOT a cop. NOT. A cop." Jaune chuckled uneasily, as he felt the gazes of gangsters – the fangbangers – look on at the spectacle taking place. "I'm just someone trying to find the Warhorse Gym to train with the huntress there. That's all."

That got the kid to literally step over his stand to begin menacingly walking towards Jaune, who much to his shame started to slowly back up.

"Oh? And what would a stinkin' goon like you want from her, huh?" There was an unnecessary tension that fell over Jaune as he tried to placate the kid, holding his hands with palms out, and close to his chest. "You say you're not a cop but you're askin' questions like one."

"Whoa, no noo. I am just here to train with the huntress-." The kid continued walking and talking over him.

"Oh really? Cuz you're actin' like you can go anywhere, look at anyone and get away it! Like every other big shot Romeo-goon."

"What- Romeo? Wha- If you would just listen for a moment." He couldn't believe this way happening

"Shut up! You think you could try and trick me? You ain't slippin' by and goin' into that there gym and you're sure as hell not getting anywhere close to tryin'a kill my sister!"

Wait. Kill?!

"What? When did I say kill? I didn't say kill. I-" But the boy continued to lay in on him.

"You yellow-bellied, gutless, lying, racist-ass, connivin' Romeo-goonie-"

"Judah!"

Both the kid and Jaune jumped to attention and faced whomever was shouting at them...

It was a woman.

One hell of a woman

A woman who had come out of the doorways of the Warhorse Gym decked out in athletic gear that clung to her form quite well, Jaune particularly noted. She was a Faunus, the long horse-like ears jutting out of her skull was the most obvious sign of that. She was also built: Her legs were thick with tight muscle. Although she wasn't as tall as Jaune she was almost as tall as he was by a few centimeters.

Trailing his eyes up from her legs, he noted that her hands were curiously paler than the rest of her lightly tanned and certainly big guns. With her face, speckled with dark freckles that highlighted her tan skin, which was framed by long ginger hair that had been tied back into a ponytail.

Though what was most striking were her dark amber eyes, the pupils they were… he realized they were rectangular.

Huh.

Unseen by Jaune, the kid's eyes bounced back and forth from the woman and Jaune. Before he looked down at Jaune's legs, and cocked back a foot.

"Ow!" Who rubbed said shin more out of instinct than pain "What the hell was that for?"

"That's my sister, you're gawkin' at!" The kid – Judah – hissed at him.

"Judah! What have I told you about kickin' strangers?" Judah's sister put her hands on her hips as she stared meaningfully at him.

"But he's a-" There was something familiar about this scene for Jaune.  
"What did I say?" Now that was a familiar tone and stare, one Jaune was most definitely familiar with.

"But 'Lilah, he was askin' about you and the gym!" And then that stare was turned onto him as were the Faunus ears which faced towards him deliberately.

"Oh, was he now?", there was something about her amused smile that had Jaune sweating, even more so with how she looked him over and Jaune couldn't help but cover his privates when her eyes trailed particularly low.

That got a snort out of her… This was Judah's sister.

"Y'know it's impolite to not introduce yourself to a lady. Or were you not taught properly?"

She was the huntress! She had to be!

"The name's Jaune Arc." He bit his tongue just in time to NOT spit out his pickup line. That would've been embarrassing. "Umm, I was told to enjoy the sweet tea?"

Judah turned to his sister, who turned to her little brother. When they looked back to him, their faces were worryingly neutral.

"If it helps, my cousin Sterling arranged some training for me… by a huntress who works at the Warhorse Gym. I don't suppose you're her?"

The woman's face was still blank.

"Y'know, I… I didn't get your name, Ms...?"

And then they stood there… for an incredibly uncomfortable length of time.

"Heheheh…"

Which was interrupted by tittering.

"Eh-heheh-heh…?"

And a less than enthusiastic chuckle.

"I'm sorry. I just sort of spaced out for a minute, heh, where are my manners today?" She let out a little whoop before she gestured to Jaune as she turned to go back inside. "Any who, my name is Delilah Charger. I'm goin' be your teacher for the year."

"A year? My cousin told me he paid for a semester." Jaune's brow furrowed. A year was way longer than a semester.

"He did indeed, Mr. Arc. And he was kind enough to pay for a whole year of trainin'. So, you don't got to worry your pretty little head about nothin'!". As she walked inside, Jaune followed suit trying his best not to ogle at the impressive Faunus woman with Judah following behind. Fuming silently.

"You'll have other things to worry about under my tutelage, Mr. Arc. Because when Delilah Charger puts her mind to somethin' that somethin' gets done."

They stopped as she turned, eyes half lidded and a little smirk on her face.

"So, you best be ready for trainin', Mr. Arc. Because you will be gettin' your money's worth and…"

Her fingers walked a path up his chest. She could probably feel his heartbeat hammering inside.

"I will make you the best damn huntsman, I can. Question is will you try to be the best?"

As she talked her face moved closer and closer to Jaune's, tantalizingly so and close enough for the hormonal young man to pick up on the scent of shampoo and sweat.

"Yes…" All that Jaune could manage was a croak.

"Good!" Delilah backed off and dragged him with her as they entered a large room filled with interlocking mats.

She nudged him, making him stand on the mats before standing across from him, pressing a button on her scroll, causing a clock mounted on a nearby wall to blink on with a countdown. The kind smile she had on before melted into a dour line that gave Jaune chills.

"Because you're trainin' begins now." Wait, now? But he just got here and they hadn't even warmed up.

"You show me what you got and you come at me with all that you can for 3 minutes. Then we have a break and we start with conditioning. Any questions?"

"Shouldn't we start out with a warmup?" That got him a raised eyebrow.

"This is your warm up. Also, I need to see what you got before I set your paces. You ready?"

The timer dinged before he could say anything and Delilah lunged towards him and clean clocked him with a straight.

He fell down but he wasn't out. Not yet.

"Well, at least I know I got to dial back my punches." She mused aloud, mentally calculating how she should approach this warmup "Get up. You're not done."

No. No, he wasn't.

He stood up and raised a feeble guard, nodding to Delilah who looked over his stance.

Not yet. He wasn't done until he collapsed to the floor from exhaustion!

This time she moved to him slower, shifting her shoulders and gauging his reaction with feints.

But maybe she could dial it down and back a bit? I mean he was an amateur for goo-

"WHOA! Were you trying to break my neck with that kick?" She gestured at him with her hands.

"Don't just stand there, move!" And so he did and by the end of the 3 minutes, Jaune had made a conclusion.

The training was going to be worth every lien, but it would absolutely suck.

"Come on, breaks over! Up, up."

All he could do was groan and get up.

* * *

AUTHORS NOTE

The characterization of Delilah is not set in any shape or form and this was more or less an experiment with what I guess I envision as an 'older-sister-ara-ara' type anime character archetype which is a shite way at starting characterization. But I'll move on from there and probably characterize her as less tease and more troll in the future depending on how I feel about it.

Now it should be noted that Delilah is meant to sound like a Southern Belle as is her brother Judah, and if his name wasn't a terrible indicator. It's super subtle foreshadowing of where Jaune gets his moniker from. Which totally makes this great storytelling on my part. Eugh. I'm liking this idea of setting up Delilah's relationship with Jaune, as in some of my proposals for storylines, Delilah is Jaune's Obi-Wan alongside another character. By doing this, it simplifies the story and allows it to more keenly focus on the relationships between characters. In theory, it should but with a hack writer like me, we'll see where this leads.

One thing I do want to do with Delilah is make her a pragmatic character, one whose edge has been sharpened by being both a Huntress and a gangster, and so her combat style and lessons she imparts to Jaune reflect that. Something that I wish to also explore in regards to Delilah is her current position within the street gang that I've established in other chapters, the Fillystines. Delilah was technically a part of it and still is but more as someone you call for help and advice.

Anyway, trying to get to writing. Trying to write more regularly. I realize very few people will actually read this and for those who have. Thank you, it's incredibly flattering that you find the idea entertaining enough to follow and review. And I hope to meet and exceed your expections


	14. Warhorse Gym INTERLUDE 1A

Another day was done at Beacon. Classes finished, homework assigned, but training was on a bit of a delay so to speak. Ever since Jaune went out one afternoon and came back 3 hours later, tired, bruised, but satisfied, things had changed. It was a simple change but a change nonetheless one that became clockwork as every time, almost on the dot, once their last class ended at 2:30. Jaune would grab a pack, strap Croccea Mors to his waist and leave Team JNPR's dorm room by 2:45. Before coming back in the evening, usually 3 hours later

Whenever asked where he was, he'd simply say: "training", with a little smile that very obviously – painfully so – hid a secret. One that no one was privy too.

Not even Jaune's own team.

 _It's already 5. Should I send him another text?_

Not even Jaune's own partner.

 _No, better not…_

Pyrrha Nikos wasn't worried, just _concerned_. She remembers how eager he seemed to leave for Vale after class and when asked if he'd be gone for long, he simply smiled.

" _I'll be back before you know it. Don't worry, I'll save some energy for practice tonight."_

And left, leaving Team JNPR to their own devices: Ren had spent his time meditating, reading up on some herbal remedies, and entertaining Nora who rather predictably talked on and on about whatever topic came to mind, whimsically so. Meanwhile, Pyrrha dutifully did her homework, messaged her parents about her day, chatted with the rest of the team, and mulled over the most recent mystery in her life.

She had not wanted to intrude, to interrogate or to pry but she would be lying if she said she was not curious. _Everyone_ was curious to know what kind training Jaune was up to even if it was understandable that he wanted to keep it private given his… less than stellar performances in combat class.

Was that why he didn't want to talk about it? Because he was too embarrassed to go to them for more help?

She felt a cold hand grip her guts.

Was he intimidated? Maybe. It wasn't hard to see why: everyone else on his team fared better against their opponents than he _ever_ did and that was not getting into the whole "Invincible Girl" reputation that Pyrrha had–and demonstrated clearly amongst the first years. But then, why did he ask her for pointers and one-on-one training?

It obviously was not due to any measure of pride on Jaune's part: he would not have bothered to ask otherwise. He probably would have, admittedly a little bull-headedly, stuck to his own ideas as to how to get better without the help of his team–and partner. He was 'self-sufficient' in a way that was both admirable and foolhardy (read: aggravating). Still, the question, or questions, remained: Why was Jaune seeking training elsewhere and how exactly was he training? Also, where was he training?

It was no secret that he was training in Vale most of the time but he never elaborated if it was at a gym, with a trainer, or with another group of students.

If Jaune _was_ training with another group of students…

She sighed softly, putting on a smile that she wasn't entirely feeling. She would be perfectly fine with that. If Jaune wanted to train with another group of students, it was totally up to him, he was free to do whatever and train with whomever he wanted.

She wouldn't let that nibble of jealousy or twinge of hurt get in the way of Jaune's success.

Click-clack.

A door opened.

"Renny! Our fearless leader has returned from the killing fields and finished his bloody work!"

"Nora, that's paint." Pyrrha could not help but gawk as her muse walked into the room.

Facially, Jaune was clean but it was easy to see the pockmarks and light bruising of what looked like… paintball markings left across his skin and of course his clothes: flecks, splatters, and circular splashes made up a fresco across his body. Surprisingly, Crocea Mors was nowhere to be seen this time, presumably packed away in the gym bag Jaune was carrying with him.

"You… okay?" Jaune sheepishly smiled.

"Yeah, it's just a little bruising from training." He placed his gym bag near the foot of his bed as he began searching for a spare shirt and pants. "Don't worry, I'll be fine in training today, Pyrrha."

Unseen by Jaune, his teammates shared a look.

"Gah!" Jaune couldn't help but yelp as someone decided to get a piggy back ride, impromptu. "N-n-Nora?"

"That's my name, don't wear it out!" Nora giggled as she balanced precariously on her leader's absently noting his surprisingly firm back. Had Jaune always been this 'hardy' or was this all due to his 'secret training'? "And stay still, young squire! Your queen demands it!"

The young man could not help but laugh as he 'rebelled' against his 'imperious queen'. Who after some failed wrangling, finally got tired trying to get him to stand still and hopped off with a 'whee'. It was a little moment that had Pyrrha and Ren smiling, it was also a little step towards the elephant in the room.

"So… how was training?" Inwardly, Pyrrha winced at her question as Jaune's face seemed to melt from light hearted joy to a more difficult expression: one-part tired, one-part mirthless, topped with a smile and furrowed brow.

"It was… good. Today, we were working on shooting." The answer was curt and somehow surprising yet totally expected. "Heh. It's been a while since I've shot a gun and I-uh found out I was rusty." Jaune's eyes zipped towards Pyrrha's with that same difficult expression on his face.

It was a clue, one of many vague but not very enlightening hints that Jaune had planted in the past 2 weeks.

It was also a topic to jump on.

"Oh? You used to shoot?" It was Nora who jumped in – quite literally – with her question. As well as her body as she leaned into Jaune's face with her trademark zany energy. A gigawatt smile of curiosity was met with the sore and sedate slowness that Jaune had been leaking ever since his training session with… whomever.

"Yeah… my uh Cousin taught me." The group could practically feel the capitalization of 'cousin' in that simple statement. "When I was younger, we used to go out into the woods and he'd teach me how to shoot… I remember when I was what… 12?"

 _ **5 Years Ago**_

 _ **In the forests of Bexshire**_

"Ling, are we there yet?" Jaune Arc, 12-years-old, a practical cherub in terms of adorableness and poutiness, but an incessant whiner who was getting really, really tired of walking with Cousin Sterling. "My feet are getting tirrrrreeeed!".

Case in point.

"Ah _, moi cousin_. Relax and rejoice! For we are here." Cousin Sterling gestured to what looked like… a thing to the young Jaune Arc. There were paper targets, weird metals things of various shapes and sizes, clay pots, soda…. Bottles(?), and a table where beneath it were several very 'official' looking metal crates with the words "Handle with Care" in big block letters. It kinda reminded Jaune of those 'weapon crates' from his video games.

As Jaune rested on a nearby log, Sterling went over to the box, fiddling with its lock and opening it to pull out a few heavy objects that clunked gently on the table alongside a few lighter crates that seemed to be full of small, metallic 'somethings' that clinked inside their plastic containers. Then Sterling gestured for Jaune to come over to take a looksee at what was on the table.

The boy's jaw dropped as he looked at the guns arrayed on the table: 2 pistols (a revolver and an actual pistol), what looked like a hunting rifle, and a shotgun, with boxes of ammo along with magazines and a funky looking thing that Jaune knew was for the revolver. All in all, this was not what Jaune was expecting, but it was definitely super cool like if St. Nicholas's Day came early and happened every day!

"Are these for me?" The awe in Jaune's voice was palpable so too was the amusement in Sterling's snort.

" _Non_ , zey are for _me_ to teach _you_ how to use zem." Sterling held the pistol by it's barrel and handed it to Jaune who reached for it.

"Hey!"

Only for Sterling to take it back.

"Jaune, listen to me very carefully: these are real guns and they shoot real ammo. You can hurt yourself or someone else if you are not careful but I will be teaching you very carefully. When I am teaching you, you will listen to what I say and you will obey."

By now, the older and taller cousin had gotten down so that he could look his younger cousin in the eye who was solemnly listening to the man's words.

"If you do not obey or if you are not careful, I put the guns away and we walk back. No second chances. Understand?"

The boy nodded and the man smiled.

"Now ze first rule of handling a gun, of any kind: Always treat it like it has bullets in it even if it does not. See how ze slide – zis part of ze gun – is like this and how it does not have a magazine in it? I even made sure zere was no bullet in ze chamber so zere is no way for an accidental discharge to happen. 0 _chance_."

Jaune didn't know how long he spent learning the tenets of firearm handling but once he was able to recite the rules to Sterling, they moved on to the next step: firing stance, loading and unloading a magazine, getting the hang of dry firing (finger placement was a tricky thing), and drawing the gun. It all sounded boring but for whatever reason, Jaune found it enjoyable going through the drills, finding it a little easier every so often.

Then came the most nerve-wracking part: shooting.

There was a tactile sensation in manually slotting in the bullets – cartridges – into the magazine before loading the gun and taking the safety off. The tremor of excitement as young Jaune realized he was about to shoot his first gun.

"Shooter ready?" Sterling's yell came from behind.

"R-r-ready!" Jaune's body was faced towards the firing range, keeping it ready near his waist with two hands wrapped around the grip. He licked his lips as the thumping of his heart bled through the hearing protector's ear muffs. Numbly, the boy was thankful for the protective goggles which wrapped tightly around his skull.

Sterling wouldn't see the sweat building around his forehead behind the thick frame of the goggles.

"Alright. Standby."

HONK

The scream of an airhorn went off and so was Jaune.

PCK!

PCK!

PCK! PCK!

PCK! PCK! PCK!

PSS!

 _What the-?_

"STOP!" Immediately, Jaune's supporting hand unclasped itself with his finger coming off the trigger and he cautiously pointed the barrel downrange. Only for every single muscle in his body suddenly clench itself still as what felt like thunder built up in his gut.

PCK!

"Jaune, you okay?" The young Arc scion turned to his cousin who eyed the pistol in Jaune's hands warily as the boy numbly nodded.

"What happened?" Jaune whispered. His left hand took off his hearing protector as the right holstered the weapon. "It just… jumped."

"Yes, that was a hang fire."

"Hang fire?"

"Yes, _moi cousin_. Sometimes the powder is delayed and I am glad you did not tap-rack or you could have blown off your hand." Sterling 'tsked' as his gaze hovered over the pistol before swinging over to the box of ammo on the table. "But honestly, it is very rare to ever occur and I am greatly surprised by this turn of events: let this be lesson in that no matter what you do to reduce the chance of misfortune, Lady Luck is… Fickle."

Misfortune... Bad luck… Mistake… Crap.

"Does this mean we have to go home now since it's… unsafe?" Jaune couldn't stop his mouth assuming a pout. Which quickly morphed into a bemused expression as Sterling laughed.

" _Non_. We are staying and I actually am quite impressed by your performance." The older cousin nodded his head toward the clay pots and targets the younger cousin had shot. "You managed to hit your targets _and_ you didn't even flinch when the hangfire happened."

"Yeah, cause I was scared."

"So? You obeyed my _instructions_ , you took your hand off ze pistol, and pointed it away to a safe direction. You made sure everyone was safe, very quickly, _and_ when you shot you did not flinch even once." The silver haired teen gave a wry smile "Honestly, when I shot my first gun: I flinched." Jaune gawped.

"Really?" Sterling shrugged.

"Really. It's a natural _reflex_ I had to train very hard to stop and I mean VERY. HARD. _Tres difficile, moi cousin._ " The silver haired Archer chuckled. To Jaune it made sense: Sterling had only started publicly participating in 3-gun tournaments a year ago and Sterling's teacher – someone Jaune knew nothing about – must have been one heck of a taskmaster for Sterling to be able to compete with speed shooters and snipers both locally and nationally. "And I think, if you put in the _effort_ and _entraines_ every day you can become a real _tireur_. Now, let's see how you do with ze rest of zees _de fusils_."

It was a moment in time that Jaune recalled fondly and one that led to some revelations about himself. Little things like although he could handle a handgun very well – surprisingly so, when it came to rifle shooting, he was not as proficient and found that no matter how hard he tried: he would flinch whenever he took a shot. Though the double-barrel Steger was a blast to try out with little kick though Sterling had assured him the gauge of the shotgun was what contributed to the lack of kickback.

All in all, when the someone was lower, the color of the trees was warmer, and the two cousins finished cleaning up their brass. Jaune walked back home, exhausted but proud, a feeling that would become rare for him to feel. Puberty was a trying time for anyone and growing up as an underachiever with a severe lack of self-confidence and a boatload of awkwardness would sap Jaune of his drive.

It was in that moment 5 years ago, Jaune found strength not in the shooting so much as the fact that someone believed in him. Someone had taken the time to teach him something that could be useful to his not-so-secret desire to be a huntsman. A someone who a 17-year-old Jaune would later discover had the ability to fudge a few papers and get him a chance to pursue that dream.

But that was for an older Jaune to know and a 12-year-old Jaune to find out.

 _ **In the Present Day**_

"Heh, yeah, and from that day on whenever Sterling was visiting us, we'd tell my family we were out 'fishing' or whatever excuse we could think of and I'd practice shooting." Jaune laughed fondly. "And uh, I _think_ my parents never found out since they never mentioned it but I always got the feeling that they had some suspicions since I never caught a fish once."

Pyrrha nodded, this "Cousin Sterling" sounded vaguely familiar to her ears, although she was primarily a gladiatrix that had not stopped her occasionally competing in more 'traditional' contests of skill: rifle shooting tournaments with Milo or unarmed combat matches had led to her going across the continent to attend different venues. So, it was inevitable to hear of new up-and-coming talent in different categories every now and again, especially when her agent was cluing her in on potential rivals.

"Well, you may not have caught any fish but I'm sure you did well against your training partners today." Pyrrha's smile was genial if strained and it was obvious to everyone in the room it was an attempt at fishing for information.

"Well, I had a rough start and uh… I'm still a little tender from the paintballs but after having to reset the kill house a few times, I made the guys pay." Jaune winced lightly as he shifted on the bed, careful not to put too much weight on his bottom.

"Oh? You trained with another group of students?" It was Ren who asked the question this time.

"Eh… yeah… I'm getting some extra training from this ex-huntress who runs this gym down in Vale and she." Jaune trailed off before finding the words. "Has a few other students who she also trains so it was pretty convenient to say the least."

"That's… that's good."

The silence in the room was deafening, filling the air with an uncomfortable energy that Team JNPR had been stuck with for the past two weeks.

"Jaune."

"Yeah, Pyr?" Pyrrha licked her lips.

How to approach this delicately?

"JAUNEY ARE YOU CHEATING ON US WITH ANOTHER TEAM!?"

"W-w-what?" With all the subtly of a pipe bomb detonated inside a glassware shop, Nora's accusation cut through the noise and din of silence and the girl in question was nose to nose with her team leader.

Her eyes had that same intensity she had when she threatened to break someone's legs.

"I SAID-"

"Nora." Ren stopped her with a minute glance, cowing the fearsome bear who backed off but still maintained an aura of murderous jealousy. Ren only sighed before continuing. "Jaune, what you do in your private life is your prerogative and I respect your privacy – we all do – but for the past 2 weeks you have been very secretive about your training and we don't know why but you've also been cutting us out."

Ren's words settled in the room and Jaune made to open his mouth but Pyrrha cut him off.

"We're not angry with you Jaune but we are… a little hurt. You know we're a team, you know that I'm your partner, and you know that you can trust us." Pyrrha couldn't stop herself from placing her hand on Jaune's and thankfully Jaune didn't pull away "I- We don't really know why you're going to Vale for training when you can ask us and I _know_ you've been training with me for the past week. I know you've been training harder with us when you're not in Vale but…"

Why don't you trust us? Why are you now shutting us out? Why is this happening?

There were questions left unspoken. Questions that Jaune had considered answering but found it difficult to do so. The truth was ridiculous, unbelievable, and more than that it would risk the house of cards that he had built up with Sterling's help.

It was what was left unsaid that had Jaune swallowing a lump in his throat as his gaze switched from Pyrrha's to Ren and Nora's and back again. He knew he had been private; he knew that he had been more blasé, more whimsical with the time that he had with them, but he hadn't meant to hurt them.

What did he have to say to get them off his case, to break out of his self-inflicted cycle of secret keeping, and to be less of a jerk?

What was it that his mom said? Lying just digs you deeper into a hole that one day you can't climb out of.

What was it that dad said? Integrity and conviction are what makes a man who he is, without them, his cause is unjust.

What was it that Sterling said? White lies are sometimes wise, and the best ones have a bit of truth in them.

All of these thoughts were compacted by the silence, again, like a mosquito that would return once waved off. The hum of the room filled the air.

"I'm sorry, guys." Jaune stared at his teammates. "You're right, I have been pretty secretive."

Nora's cough made him wince.

"I've been keeping you guys out; I have been training with someone else – NOT another team but under someone else." Jaune stared meaningfully at Nora who was mollified enough to exaggeratedly swipe her forehead of non-existent sweat. "And there is a part of me that doesn't trust you guys enough to tell you about what I'm doing because…."

How to say this?

"I'm gonna come clean but I need you guys to have an open mind with what I'm about to say and withhold judgement before I'm done…" Jaune licked his lips that he realized were suddenly dry. "I am training in Vale a lot because I need to catch up. I need all the help I can get if I want to pass this semester, if I want to be able to be the leader that you guys and Mr. Ozpinn think I am."

And wasn't that the truth: students rarely were held back in Beacon though it did occasionally happen for whatever reason whether academic, medical, or something else entirely. There had been a scant few cases of leaders being held back and in the cases that happened, on paper the leader would still be Team Lead though they would be graduating later than the rest of their team. It was a humiliating tribulation that had led to much wounded pride over the years. Though none such case was as similar as to Jaune's.

When was the last time some no name, delinquent whose name and face was probably printed on milk boxes across Bexshire with zero combat skill or huntsmen academic knowledge welcomed into Beacon?

Zero.

Jaune made sure to check.

His was an extraordinary case that involved cooperation with criminal elements, the commission of an actual crime, and of recent he was beginning to sink his teeth into the criminal underworld of Lower Vale simply by proximity with an ex-huntress who was also a former gang member.

A truly sterling start to his illustrious career as a huntsman. A hero.

He was a fake. He was a thief. He was a leader or well, he was made to be a leader and he was frankly coming up short. Surrounded by real huntsman-in-training, real fighters, real students, kids who were bound to grow up and become honest to god legends. Showered in glorious praise and appreciated by the masses as defenders of man and faunuskind.

Faunus… Delilah…

" _Mr. Arc. I don't know much about your circumstances but any young buck involvin' themselves with me, Sterling, and Beacon is bound to have quite the colorful past and future. But know that no matter how many times you've been a-paintin' over your past, someone's gonna come around and scratch that right off." Delilah looked out the windows of the gym as the fangbangers got on their bikes and drove off, the roaring engines echoing in the tight neighborhood of Shephalah Street. "But know that when that time comes: you best be true to yourself and those you love cause you are the maker of your fate. Only a damned fool lets himself be dragged by his chains–and you may be blonde but you ain't a fool."_

"You guys had some experience fighting Grimm or just fighting before you came to Beacon, you had somebody who trained you, you had the official papers, transports, or certificates."

"Where you going with this, Jaune?"

"What if you didn't?" Already, Jaune could see the gears turning in Pyrrha's eyes as she looked at him. "What if you came to Beacon, with no real combat skills that you could use against Grimm, without your Aura unlocked, without any official certification… and you somehow made it past Initiation and were now part of a team."

"Jaune…" Ren was staring incredulously at him as was Nora.

"You were just some loser who was lucky enough to run into people who could fight a thousand times better than he could, saving his life a thousand times over, in a school where everyone's been at this thing far longer than he has." Jaune swallowed a lump as he felt his stomach rolling in discomfort. "So, you suffer and you suck and you get beaten down trying to pursue a stupid dream of being somebody without any preparation all because you _lied_ to get to where you are now."

He hadn't realized it but he was feeling his vision going blurry at the corners as tears began welling up. God, he had been a fucking idiot coming to Beacon the way he did, hadn't he?

"You start from level zero or maybe like 1 while everyone else is at level 25 or 50. You're under-leveled, under-powered, you didn't invest in the right stats or skill tree, and you're just mashing buttons hoping to God that you'll make it. Even though you're just making things up as you go along, and you get frustrated with yourself when you're training with people because even though you know in your brain that all of your friends have been training pretty much their entire lives to get where they are at now." He was openly sobbing now, holding back snot and cries. "There's an ugly part of you that gets jealous how everyone else is so damn good, that gets angry with yourself that you suck, that gets embarrassed and scared every combat class every time you lose because it's only a matter of time before people realize the truth that you don't belong here and kick you out."

With every word being spat out by Jaune, a little stinger of venom seemed to poke and inject its payload into Nora, Ren, and Pyrrha. It was shocking to hear the verbal self-flagellation coming from Jaune's mouth sound so hateful and pained. Accompanied with this reveal of Jaune's big secret, it was like an emotional sucker punch to the face.

"So I've been training my ass off with a trainer in Lower Vale, I've been trying to train with Pyrrha even though a part of me doesn't want to, and I've been spending so much time down there because sometimes it hurts too much knowing how much I suck, how stupid I was for enrolling into Beacon, and knowing that I was chosen to be the leader of Team JNPR even though I'm the least qualified to be that. Thank you, Nora." Jaune blew his nose in some tissue the usually bubbly Valkyrie had gotten him before taking a few shuddering breaths. "So yeah… I'm really sorry. I know I haven't fair to you. I know this is a lot to take in, and I know that I've hurt you all because of my _stupid_. _Selfish_ … Guh…"

He breathed in deeply, as the sudden rush of energy he felt from his guilt suddenly depleted and he found himself holding his head in his hands as he stared at the floor with red eyes. He didn't have the guts to look his team in the eyes, the judgement and the pity would be too much.

And so, the silence was replaced by dying sobs and weakened breaths as Team JNPR tried to reconcile within themselves, their feelings about their team. Then the crying stopped as Jaune finally looked up to his team who were still reeling from recent revelations. Nora thought he looked like a hawk with how intensely he stared.

"Now with that said, I'm not gonna stop training. I'm not gonna stop trying to be the person Headmaster Ozpinn thought I could be. I am going to work hard to be the leader that you guys deserve and I promise I'll be more open with you guys from here on out." There was something galvanized in Jaune, that moment of weakness and truth, replaced by something hardier that was building up to something more. "But before an of that even happens…"

Jaune Arc paused.

"…Do you think you could forgive me?"

For a moment, nothing happened before the expressions across the faces of Team JNPR grew softer.

"You better be ready to make me pancakes for breakfast for the next 2 weeks, buster, your queen demands it!"

Nora…

"…We'll need to get to the kitchen later so I can teach you how to make them the way Nora likes them."

Ren…

Hopefully, Jaune turned towards his partner and felt his heart drop just an inch as Pyrrha looked at him. Her face set in a complicated expression that fed a bud of anxiety that he was desperately trying to stave off. The young pit fighter's eyes rested on her scroll which flashed the time before they shifted to her partner.

"It's 6:43, you better get ready for tonight because we're practicing countering." The corners of the red headed huntress's mouth turned upwards, just a tad, as she began walking towards the door. "I expect you to keep your word, fearless leader."

Jaune's grinned with teeth as he too got up and followed her out.

He wasn't going to let his chains drag him down. He was here at Beacon with people willing to give him a chance to become something more than he was. Of course, a willingness to forgive didn't mean everything would go back to normal after everything that had been said. Nor did it mean that he was off the hook, but that was fine, he would tell them eventually about who Delilah Charger and Sterling Archer was.

For now, he was making his way back into their good graces and for now that would be enough.

Authors Note

So I've been trying to write more often and I've been reading a lot more RWBY fanfiction and trying to be a little more critical of how the stories I like work. Big part is buildup and setup of which this idea is lacking since it is essentially a series of semi-connected plotlines that requires investment into the world and drama in order to be effective.

The Yakuza series does this all the while juggling multiple characters with a finale that ultimately ties up the stories of each of their protagonists. Usually with some internal problem within the Yakuza organization itself that involves the other parties. It is the internal problem that I'm trying to grapple with in order to not only have a story idea that is divergent from canon but one that also eventually leads to the canon RWBY plot being linked.

I don't fancy myself a writer of good dialogue or plot, I'm more of a monologue and worldbuilding sort of person admittedly but I am going to try and go forward with this snippet plotline as I feel it is the most concrete in regards to something that is capable of building up to something.


End file.
